


(Letting Go Of) What I've Done

by booklovertwilight



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Actual good parenting, Alliances, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Altruism, And what love can't solve, Angst with a Happy Ending, But being loved is still nice, Canon Autistic Character, Compassionate L, Conspiracy Theories, Depression, Divergence After Episode 23, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Good Sibling Yagami Sayu, Good Yagami Light, Guilty Yagami Light, Hurt/Comfort, Light and L Solve Cases Together, M/M, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Mental illness sucks and love does not cure it, Minor Amane Misa/Rem, One-Sided Amane Misa/Yagami Light, POV L (Death Note), POV Mello | Mihael Keehl, POV Yagami Light, POV Yagami Sayu, Plot Twists, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychosis, Scheming, Self-Harm, Some combination of support therapy and sheer fucking willpower can, Speeches, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, This is Explicit mostly for violence, Trigger warning for all the mental problems listed here. Detailed descriptions follow., Wammy's House (Death Note), Written to fix Death Note's morality which I personally find pretty terrible, autistic L, but it is Character Development Smut, cognitive behavioral therapy, there will be one (1) chapter with some smut in it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 73,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27034804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booklovertwilight/pseuds/booklovertwilight
Summary: Light's elaborate plan to return the Death Note to himself and regain his memories of being Kira worked perfectly.Except for one problem.Spending time on the police force, working alongside L, and being L's friend has caused Light to suddenly grow a conscience.AU where Light is disgusted with his actions as Kira after he regains the Death Note.
Relationships: L/Yagami Light
Comments: 127
Kudos: 552





	1. Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by an orphaned fic on Ao3. Credit where credit is due, [here is the fic that inspired this one.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476687/chapters/16991493)
> 
> This fic updates at least once per week, and this will continue until my last planned chapter, ch.36. 
> 
> Kudos and comments mean the world to me, and inspire me to keep writing. Please consider leaving comments with reactions, ideas, suggestions, & etc!
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: I have done my best to add trigger warnings for the chapters where stuff happens which would warrant the E rating on AO3 - which really is only two chapters. However, if you would like me to tag something specific for you, so you can better engage with this content, please let me know in the comments! I'll reply promptly and go through all the chapters to add the relevant warnings.
> 
> I love you all, please be safe! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this farewell,  
> there's no blood, there's no alibi,  
> cause I've drawn regret  
> from the truth of a thousand lies.
> 
> \- Linkin Park: “What I’ve Done”

Flashing red and blue. Black, and white.

Helicopter blades sliced through the air overhead.

Light’s right hand rested on the keyboard of a laptop, fingers typing in names. His left hand held the Death Note.

 _His_ death note.

 _I’ve won,_ he thought. A grin spread across his face. _Exactly as planned._

All he would need to do now is kill Higuchi before he had to let go of the notebook. And he could do that, because his brainwashed self had politely worn the watch containing a cut square of the Death Note, along with a needle.

Still typing names with his right hand, Light surreptitiously pricked his left index finger and began to write the name of the false Kira. He had to dip the needle into the blood droplet several more times, like an old-fashioned pen into an inkwell, but it still wasn’t long before he had written out the name. 

Light’s fingers tightened on the notebook as he focused halfway on the typing and halfway on the nigh-imperceptible ticking of his watch. He didn’t want to think about what could happen if L were to take the notebook from him now. Thirty seconds to go. Twenty. Ten.

Higuchi’s chest seized abruptly, and the man writhed in pain for a moment, gasping for air, before he expired. His eyes remained wide-open in fear.

And, very much in spite of himself, Light abruptly started laughing. Aloud.

That is, until L shot him a strange look.

Light stopped, almost embarrassed, but he thought too fast for that. He grabbed L’s shoulder and exclaimed, “We lived, didn’t we? Kira didn’t kill us!”

L smiled, briefly, but his lips turned downward again. “Perhaps,” he said, pulling down the corner of his bottom lip with his thumb. “But that clearly wasn’t the real Kira.”

Of course L knew that. “Just perfect,” Light sighed, slumped back in his seat. “We go through all that, and he’s not even the real one.”

“It isn’t as though we’re left without leads,” L said, pointing at Rem.

* * *

“There are many rules written on the cover of this notebook,” L said, shaking the Death Note like a lawyer gesturing with a document he was presenting as evidence. “But two rules in particular stand out as the most important. First: _ If the user of the Death Note fails to consecutively write names within 13 days of each other, then the user will die. _ ”

“Wait,” said Matsuda, “if that’s true, it means that Light and Misa-Misa are completely cleared! Doesn’t it?”

“Hm, now that you mention it, that’s right,” Aizawa said. “Light and Misa were detained for more than fifty days, and are still under surveillance. If either of them had been Kira, there’s no way they would still be alive right now.”

“Wow, that’s great news, isn’t it Chief?”

“Yeah,” Soichirou said.

“Second,” L continued, still holding up the book, “ _ If a person makes this notebook unusable by tearing it up or burning it, all the humans who have touched the Death Note will die. _ ”

“Hold on,” Aizawa interrupted. “Ryuzaki. Miss Amane and Light have both been cleared of suspicion. They shouldn’t be under surveillance any longer.”

“Yeah, that’s right!” Matsuda said, “It’s crystal clear!”

L lowered the book, frowning. He looked reticent. Maybe, almost worried. He breathed a quiet sigh. “...I suppose you’re right.”

Watari had come down at L’s request almost immediately afterward, and removed the handcuffs that had linked Light to L. 

The conversation continued after that, but Light paid it no attention. He was sure his plan would work. Fake rules written in a Death Note by a shinigami; there was no way L’s deductive skills would be of any use to him now. But even so, a weight sat low in his stomach. It had been building the whole helicopter ride back from the scene where he’d killed Higuchi, slowly getting worse through this conversation. He’d been able to ignore it before, but right now, he could nearly feel the bile rising in his throat. He swallowed hard, but knew he would need to leave. He didn’t think anyone even heard his quiet “excuse me” as he left for the bathrooms.

The cubicle door slammed shut and Light hardly got the lock in place before he fell to his knees. He dug his nails into his palms, crouching forward, squeezing his eyes shut. He really didn’t want to throw up. It hurt so much, not only at the time, but in days of soreness afterward. Maybe, through an act of sheer will, he could force his uncooperative body into submission. But he was afraid he would have no other choice.

It was only a few more seconds before he caved. He threw up into the toilet, mouth and throat burning from the bile. His body shook many times in its violent outburst, and he squeezed his eyes so tightly shut that tears ran down his cheeks. Even after he’d been rid of it all, it took several minutes of sitting there, clammy and shivering, before he felt well enough to stand.

He flushed the toilet, stumbled out of the stall, and looked in the mirror. He was pale and sickly-looking, with damp hair stuck to his face by sweat and tears. He reached a shaking hand to turn on the tap, and splashed some cold water in his face.

Despite it all, there was still a sense of pride. He was winning. He was going to win. He would be revered as Kira. God of the new world.

But did he really want that?

Light turned his hands over and watched the water running over them. He felt weakness, true weakness, for the first time in years. Maybe the first time in his life. 

“Kira shouldn’t have weaknesses,” Light muttered to himself. “No. Kira _doesn’t_ have weaknesses.”

And yet the water covering his hands was wet like blood.

Light returned to the central room of the Kira Task Force headquarters, a slight dragging to his steps. 

In the middle of taking a sip of tea, L looked over and tilted his head aside. A bit of his hair fell into his cup. “Light-kun, are you alright? You look very pale.”

It took a moment for Light to respond, and when he did, his voice creaked like a little-used door hinge. “I’ll be fine… just feeling a little sick.”

L set his cup down on the desk and stood. He picked up the Death Note from the table and, slouching the whole way, walked over to Light. “Light-kun, as you are equally as intelligent as myself, I would like your opinion on this. We were considering-”

Soichirou coughed quietly.

“- _I_ was considering testing the 13-day rule. Do you believe this would be a reasonable course of action?”

Two thoughts came to Light at once. The first, what innocent Light Yagami should say: _Like when you sent Lind L. Tailor as your double, it would be best to use a death-row inmate for both the person writing the name and the person whose name would be written._ And the second, what Kira would think about that. _I could just have Misa write the name of whatever inmate we chose 13 days after they wrote their designated name, confirming the rule._

But Light didn’t say what he was supposed to. Instead, he staggered, overcome again by sickness. His arm that reached up to brace him thudded loudly against the wall. 

“Light,” Soichirou walked over quickly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “You don’t look well at all. You should go home and get some rest.”

Shaking his head, Light pushed himself away from the wall. It took more effort than such a simple action should. “It’s okay, Dad. I’m just tired.” He faked a yawn, very aware that the entire room was staring at him.

“Go on, we can handle it,” L said. “We won’t decide anything important until you get back.”

Unwilling- no, _unable_ to argue, Light nodded, making his way out the door. The shame of showing weakness to his enemy burned in his chest.

Weakness he had inflicted on himself.


	2. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living like a ghost you walk by everyone you know.  
> You say that you're fine, but you have lost your sway and glow,  
> so I stopped by to let you know…
> 
> \- Twenty One Pilots: “Friend, Please”

L sat in silence. The dark circles under his eyes made him look tired, but in truth he was at the peak of his mental capabilities. He held the Death Note they had confiscated from Higuchi open in front of him, staring intently at it as though an idea might write itself onto the blank lines. 

It seemed contradictory that a person would die without using the Death Note for 13 days. It didn’t contradict any specific fact, exactly, only required a massive adjustment of his mental probability assessments. He was nearly certain that Light and Misa had both used Death Notes. Two separate ones, most likely. There was physical evidence implicating Misa, and far more than enough coincidences involving the times they met and interacted to implicate Light by association. But it had been more than 13 days since both of them had stopped using the notebooks.

Perhaps once Kira’s power passed on, the rules of the Death Note, including the 13-day rule, ceased to apply. But in that case, how could it be that everyone who had ever touched the book could be killed by it if it were to be destroyed? It wasn’t wholly impossible that a single rule might operate differently than the rest, but it was a complication to the theory that decreased its likelihood. And the compounding of many different improbabilities eventually constituted an effective impossibility.

L sighed and set the notebook down onto his desk. This speculation was much less useful in absence of an experimental test, but he had been unable to get Light to agree that the test was necessary. He had figured Light would agree with him on that front, and Light could persuade the others. 

He didn’t strictly need to have Soichirou’s or Matsuda’s approval. L didn’t want to do it - he didn’t want to create unnecessary distrust between Task Force members - but he _could_ go to Aizawa directly to test the rule. His influence with the police would be enough.

L stood to pace, and met the eyes of the shinigami. He looked away, but he knew its unblinking stare would be following him around the room. 

“Shinigami-”

“My name is Rem, human.”

“My name is L, shinigami.”

The room returned to silence. L decided whatever conversation he was about to have was unimportant. He _knew_ there were two notebooks. He didn’t need her to confirm that.

Rem continued to stand there, looking utterly bored and uninterested in, not only him, but the entirety of the human world. Like she had boarded the wrong flight and was now stranded somewhere she had absolutely no desire to be.

When he turned around to pace back the way he came, she had turned around, flying away. Before he could say anything, she passed through a wall, out of sight.

L really missed the concept of universal laws of physics. This type of thing wasn’t supposed to be possible. This entire concept of shinigami and Death Notes wasn’t supposed to be possible. What happened to Einstein’s General Relativity? He was fairly sure that it was physically impossible to cause a heart attack instantly, anywhere in the world, by writing a name.

He continued to pace, back and forth, back and forth. 

L did not want to let Misa or Light go. But when the rest of the Task Force was so set on the infallibility of the rules written on the notebook, and all L had to go on was probability, he’d been forced to do it anyway. Doing anything else would have resulted in a massive argument, and in all likelihood, everyone else abandoning the case. 

He just hoped this wouldn’t get him killed.

His thoughts drifted back to Light - not to his likely opinion on L’s test, but the reason he was currently unavailable to provide that opinion. Light _had_ looked a bit uncomfortable since Higuchi’s death. Was it just L’s stubborn unwillingness to admit defeat, that Light was still his prime suspect for Kira’s true identity? If Light was Kira then this sudden bout of sickness _could_ come from guilt.

No, that wouldn’t make sense. If Light were Kira, he had killed without the slightest hint of remorse. L knew that, because he had put surveillance in Light’s home for five days. Why would he suddenly grow a conscience now?

And, if Light were Kira, where would he have put the Death Note? Now that L knew how Kira killed, he had even less ground on which to accuse Light. He could theoretically have kept it in his school bag, but L had seen Light empty his school bag multiple times. 

Wait, hold on. There were several corners torn from the Death Note, and several whole pages missing. That could have been how he wrote names without taking the whole book. But that would have required that he know about the surveillance, which seemed rather unlikely since he hadn’t even bothered to check for bugs. He hadn’t even found the more obvious ones.

Could he have told the shini- could he have told Rem about the cameras while not at home, and then had her search the house? It seemed unlikely that a shinigami would take orders from a human. Especially a shinigami as irritated with the universe as Rem.

It was all mere speculation at this point.

But, regardless of who Kira really was, he was a murderer. He would still be even if he had stuck strictly to killing only criminals, and he had definitely not done that. Lately, Kira had been killing more and more innocent people in order to cover his tail. And even more than that, he had killed so many petty criminals, the sort who would ordinarily get petty punishments. They shouldn’t have been killed.

L would bring Kira to justice. No matter what.

* * *

Light smiled gently at Sayu, and waved to his mother - who was starting to cook something in the kitchen - as he plodded up the stairs.

As he approached his door, he noticed the handle was horizontal. Frowning, he opened the door, and found the lights on. The intruder was sitting on his bed.

Misa.

He brought a hand to his face, massaging his temple as Misa tilted her head down. Her nails were chipped, and her hands were covered with dirt from digging up the other Death Note. She pressed those hands into her lap as she said, “I did the eye deal again. I went to your work just now, but you’d already left for home… Kira-”

Light took two fast steps over and covered her mouth. He stared her dead in the eyes as she looked up, trembling. Her damp tears fell onto his fingers, and he pulled his hand away, wiping it on his pants.

_She’s a liability still. She will never stop being that._

_I don’t even know if I can keep being Kira. I’m so sick, and weak, and useless._

_I don’t want her to be caught up in this anymore. Being around me has only made her life sad and short._

“Misa.” He sat down beside her on his bed, took a breath to steady himself. “I don’t love you. I will never love you. I want you to know that. You are pretty, gorgeous even-”

She glared at him, eyes leaking tears of resentment. Clearly, she didn’t want to hear it.

Fine. He would skip the platitudes. “Misa, I used you. But I never wanted you to do the eye trade again. You only have a quarter of your life left. If you were to live another 60 years, you now have only 15. _I’m sorry_ , Misa.” His eyes burned with tears, and he looked away from her, letting his bangs hide the shame. “But I don’t want to date you.”

The silence pressed down on him. And then, Misa’s breath caught, and she began to sob. She stood and handed her Death Note to Light. Just as he grabbed it, she reached down and shoved him backward, turning abruptly around.

He moved to grab her arm. “Misa, wait, you’ll-”

“I give up the Death Note,” she said. She really thought that was what he wanted to hear. She thought that if she didn’t do it, she would be a liability to him. She stopped walking as the fleeting disorientation of forgetting left her, and then, fueled by the bitterness that still remained, she walked faster. 

Not to the door. To a window. Which, as she pulled aside the curtain, he realized was left open. 

“I never want to see you again, you jerk.” She sniffled even as she said it, her arms pressed against her sides. And then, she climbed out the window, and disappeared into the night.

“That seemed rough,” Ryuk commented.

Light looked up. The shinigami had been standing in the corner this whole time, accidentally out of view. Light sighed and fell backward onto the bed, covering his eyes with his arm. He stifled a sob, but a few tears stained his sleeve nonetheless.

“Shut up, Ryuk.”

* * *

Light awoke to his mother shaking his arm gently. He sat up a bit in bed, propping himself up on his elbows. The room was blurry for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the lack of pressure. 

“Light, dinner’s ready. Your father is home, and he brought a guest with him.”

Light shut his eyes, tipping his head back. The feeling of sickness crept back at the thought of eating. 

His mother leaned over his bed, pressed a hand to his forehead. “You’re so clammy, Light. You should come down and try to eat something. Healing takes energy, you know.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said, but he sat up anyway. He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. They did feel cold, and sweaty. Maybe his mom was right. “I’ll come down anyway, though. Who’s with Dad?”

His mother smiled at him, like she was proud of him for even making an effort to eat. “A young man named Ryuzaki. I believe you both know him.”

 _L is here? Why?_ Light’s brow furrowed.

“I’ll see you downstairs in a minute,” his mother said. She smoothed his hair with one careful motion, and then left his room.

Light pulled the Death Note out from underneath him and put it into his desk where it belonged. He closed the window that Misa left through, and tried to fix his hair using his reflection in the glass. He gave up and left his room, still looking like a mess.

He turned at the bottom of the staircase, and saw his family sitting around the dinner table, waiting for him. A wave of disgust crawled over him at the idyllic sight, and his throat tightened again. He’d made Misa cry. He’d killed so many people. He even thought about killing his own family to get suspicion off him! He didn’t deserve to be here, didn’t deserve for anybody to be smiling at him, he didn’t deserve any of it-

_ I am justice! I am doing what is necessary to cleanse the world of evil!  _

But was _this_ the right way to do it?

Taking a moment to steady his breathing, Light stopped. He recollected himself. And then, he walked into the kitchen, watched by his family and by L.

The corners of L’s lips turned up in a way that wasn’t really a smile. Just an acknowledgement. He was holding a single chopstick between two fingers, wearing his usual frumpy clothing. 

The only available chair was next to him.

Light sighed and sat next to L. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as L stared at him.

Light’s mother went around the table, placing a bowl of steaming soup in front of each person. Everyone tucked into their dinner, although Light mostly picked at his. At one point, Sayu cracked a joke, and everyone at the table laughed. Light forced his laughter as soon as he noticed the trend of the group, but he hadn’t been paying enough attention to know what it was she’d said. The way L’s laugh sounded, it seemed he had the same problem.

A few minutes passed, and L took out his mobile phone, and began poking at it with his index finger. When he finished doing whatever he was doing, he picked up the single chopstick he’d been using to stab only the chunks of meat in the soup, and stabbed another one.

In his jacket pocket, Light’s phone buzzed softly. He opened it under the table and glanced only momentarily.

L had texted him. “You’ve been crying. I am 87% sure it is because you’re feeling guilty.”

Light tensed. _How did he-_

His phone buzzed again in his hand. “93% sure,” the new message read.

Light pursed his lips, not even bothering to return to picking at his dinner. He moved his phone into his lap so that he could type with both thumbs. “Guilty about what?”

L looked over to him then, holding another piece of skewered meat on the end of his solitary chopstick. He gave him a real smile this time, one that reached his eyes. It was sympathetic and genuine and almost caring.

A new message. It read: “Many things, Light-kun.” 

Light looked back over, but L had his bowl in both hands and was slurping up his soup, phone abandoned in his lap. 

“Light,” his mother said, snapping him out of his staring at L. “Aren’t you going to eat your soup?”

His smile was pained as he shook his head. “No thanks, mom. I’m not really hungry.”


	3. Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It can be so hollow,  
> like my ribcage, the echoes follow,  
> follow me like the fears I swallow,  
> and drown in all my mistakes.  
> All I know is if my skin bled  
> like the ink dripped from my pen, my bed  
> would be drenched in a scarlet, rose red,  
> and drown in all my mistakes.
> 
> \- Ansel Elgort: “Thief”

Having dinner with Light’s family was quite pleasant. Almost pleasant enough to make L consider doing it again. Light himself didn’t eat anything, though, which L found strange. Strange, but not unexpected. Increase that probability to 97%. Regardless, he could consider _what_ Light might be guilty about in particular later on. 

For now, he stood from the dinner table, bowl emptied in front of him. “Well,” he said, “it was a pleasure meeting you all. Sayu-san, Sachiko-san. But, I must take my leave.” He glanced toward Light, but only got a blank look in reply. “Goodnight, everyone.” He bowed, and was about to leave-

“Oh, no, Ryuzaki-san,” Sayu piped up. “It’s so late, you shouldn’t be going anywhere!”

L’s brow furrowed at this. She couldn’t be- No, she wasn’t. Nobody ever flirted with L, and besides, her parents were both nodding in agreement with welcoming looks on their faces.

Even so. “No thank you, Sayu-san. As kind as your offer is, I can-”

“You should stay,” Soichirou said gruffly. “We don’t want you getting hurt. I’m speaking as your colleague here, Ryuzaki-san. If we lose you, we may as well lose everything we’ve worked for. Please, stay the night.”

Sighing softly, L replied in a monotone. “If you insist.” He looked again at Light, who was staring vacantly into the middle distance. “May I have a sleeping bag? I would like to sleep in Light’s room, if he is amenable to that arrangement.”

Light opened his mouth, as though to protest, but then shook his head. “Sure.”

* * *

If he weren’t already utterly incapable of sleeping, L’s footsteps might bother Light. But as it stood, it was mere background noise, like the ticking of a clock. It wasn’t helping anything, though. Light still had an ear-splitting headache and a weight in his gut. He was curled around a pillow, laying on his left side, which he had read somewhere ought to help nausea, and jamming his thumb into the appropriate pressure point on his wrist as hard as he could. None of it was helping. 

“Hm,” said a voice that wasn’t L’s, from the corner of the room. “Who’s this?”

 _Ryuk._ Light groaned. He couldn’t talk to him while L was here. Leaving aside how bad it was that L was here at all. Why had he agreed to this? It was a horrible idea. Even despite his failsafe in his desk drawer. Because of course L would never believe the excuse that it was designed to hide his real diary. He would know it was to hide a Death Note. He already knew there was more than one. That was part of the conversation Light had half-paid-attention-to that morning.

Light sat up. If nothing was going to help his nausea, and he wasn’t going to get any sleep, it didn’t matter if he was laying down or not.

L whirled around and stared at him with wide eyes. The slice of streetlamp-light that came through the gap between the curtains exacerbated the dark circles under his eyes even more, made his face look translucently pale and deathly hollow. “Light-kun, you’re still awake. I understand you feel unwell, but that is why you should be sleeping. The best medicine for minor ailments is rest.”

L stepped towards him, his poor posture making him look even more corpse-like. “Even I sleep when I am ill, and I don’t ordinarily…” 

Light curled into a ball, tucking his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. The plush blanket felt like sandpaper against his hot fingers. 

L stared at him, eyes widening. “Light-kun?”

Light breathed in, wanting to speak but being unable to do so. He let it out again, feeling his chest shake. He looked over at L. Now that he was closer, moved away from the light, he had ceased to look intimidating at all. In fact, he might look… compassionate. 

_He can’t care about me,_ Light thought. _He wouldn’t. Especially not if... he knew... what I did. I can’t do this._

“Light-kun… you’re crying,” L said. He looked bewildered, like the last thing he would ever expect from this world was to see Light cry in front of him.

Light dug his nails into his arms. He felt the heat in his cheeks, but it didn’t stop him from continuing to cry. After a moment, though, he looked away, letting out a small sob as he said, “I’m sorry.”

L’s lips parted slightly, and his eyebrows lowered. He looked even more confused than he had when he had seen a shinigami for the first time. He took the remaining step to close the distance between himself and Light’s bed, and sat down. He laid his hand on Light’s arm-

“Don’t!” Light exclaimed, scrambling to the other side of the bed. “I’ll hurt you!”

L stared at him. Light was not helping his confusion. “How will you hurt me?”

"Everyone who gets close to the truth dies."

"Light-kun..."

"I'M KIRA!" he shouted, tears streaming from his eyes, his whole body shaking. "I'm… a monster..." and his eyes slid closed as he fell limply onto the bed.

L gasped, his hands beginning to tremble. But he forced them to steady, forced his breathing to even. He walked to the door, poked his head out.

“Soichirou,” he said, loudly enough for him to hear. “Your son just fainted after admitting to being Kira.”

" _WHAT?!_ "


	4. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to be a better brother, better son,  
> wanted to be a better adversary to the evil I have done,  
> I have none to show to the one I love,  
> but deny, deny, denial.
> 
> \- Twenty One Pilots, Polarize

The cool, hard concrete on which his cheek rested was the first indicator that Light was definitely not in his room anymore. He opened his eyes groggily, wincing at the pain in his gut. How long had it been since he’d eaten? He pressed his hand to the grey concrete and sat up, looking around. He recognized this place. From the bed to the metal toilet to the concrete walls to the metal bars, everything here was various shades of grey.

 _I’M KIRA!_

His words from yesterday echoed in his mind. Tormenting him. Almost mocking him. Why had he done that?

Light became aware of a crackling voice emanating from a speaker somewhere in the room, but he couldn’t make himself focus on what it was saying. He shut his eyes again, curling into a ball against the side of the bed. 

_I’ve lost._

He had lost. Not his game with L, or his chance to become a god, or whatever it was he was after when he’d turned into Kira. He’d lost something more important. His mother’s touch, his sister’s laugh, his father’s smile. Misa’s heart, and L’s trust. 

Why did that hurt so much?

Light was crying again without even thinking about it. His breathing wasn’t irregular, he wasn’t sobbing. Only grey tears falling onto grey clothes. 

He tried to listen to the voice again. He missed words, listening more to the tone than anything else. 

"Light... Kira... Murder... Are you... Is... Listening?" Light fought the urge to stand, keeping himself on the ground. He recognized the voice, and recognized even better the tone of disappointment. "Light...? Are... We'll feed you when you... Son...?"

Light wanted to say something, but his voice wouldn’t work. He couldn’t speak, no matter how hard he might try. All he could do was sit here and sob.

“ **Kira.** ” The new voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp like the edge of a blade. 

Light’s eyes snapped up to the camera mounted on the wall just outside his cell, gaze shaking. The tears stopped coming, replaced by pure shock. “...L?”

“That is who you are. You are Kira. Mass murderer.”

Light nodded. _That is who I am. I am Kira. Mass murderer._

Light suddenly noticed Ryuk sitting cross-legged in the corner, arms folded lazily. Another wave of shame washed through him, followed by a wave of anger. He’d even let _him_ down, hadn’t he? Ryuk had wanted to see something interesting, and Light had just given up halfway through. It would have been worse to continue, he knew, but that didn’t stop the pain. He put his head back down, resting his forehead on his arms.

“I find it strange, Kira,” L said, sounding almost casual. It was the same tone he’d used when talking to Light at school. “That you would give up. Why did you do it?”

Light knew what his answer was. Knew, but couldn’t say it. L wouldn’t believe it. So he didn’t answer the question. He clenched his fists until his knuckles were white from the strain, but his voice didn’t break. “Would you have preferred I followed through with my plan to kill you?”

The ensuing silence suffocated him. Light wished the ground would open up, and swallow him whole. Maybe he should just die, and go to wherever humans who have used Death Notes go, the place that is neither heaven nor hell. Ryuk had never specified what that was. Maybe it wasn’t a place at all, and all that happened was that his consciousness would be destroyed so there would be absolutely nothing left of him. That sounded like a good idea.

Come to think of it, why had L not announced that Light would be sentenced to death? He thought that was the thing he would say immediately. Actually, he could have already said it, when Light was too busy feeling bad for himself to pay attention. Stupid.

“Am I…” Light said, but stopped himself. He didn’t know what answer he wanted to that question. He didn’t want to ask it in the first place.

There was no reply to his partial question. Light turned his head back and forth, wiping his damp face on his sleeves, and looked back up. The small red light that indicated the camera was currently recording video was still on, but the larger white light that indicated L was actually watching had turned off.

Light laid down across the concrete floor, not feeling like he deserved to stand up and lay in the bed. He felt a sharp point prick the inside of his wrist as he moved, and turned it over to look. There was a small piece of metal on his handcuffs that hadn’t been adequately smoothed when the parts were cut, and it had sliced just a bit into his skin. The red beads that seeped from the wound were the only color he had seen in a long time.

The redness bubbled up from the cut until it trailed down his arm and fell, drop by drop, onto the concrete. Light stared at the droplets, then glanced down at himself. His skin was pale, his clothes were pale; he might as well have been a ghost. But the blood was definitely real. Definitely his.

Shaking, he staggered to his feet, but fell again to his knees. The cloying emptiness in his stomach left him weak. He hobbled to the bed and climbed into it, collapsing against the pillow. The image of bright crimson against dull grey concrete burned into his mind as he fell asleep.

* * *

L leaned back in his seat. He checked back in on Light, but it seemed he had fallen asleep. L turned off the video feed again and picked up his tea, sipping it quietly as he continued to stare at the black screen. In its reflection, he could see Soichirou in the chair next to him, sobbing into his hands.

L tilted his head toward the shaking man, frowning. “Yagami-san-”

A loud wail escaped the older man as he shouted something utterly incomprehensible. The only word that L could make out was _Light_. 

Sachiko stood at his side, rubbing his back in slow circles. No tears ran over her cheeks, but the redness around her eyes told L they had only recently stopped. Behind them both, Sayu stood, shell-shocked. She had yet to cry at all. L wondered if she had even processed what had happened.

L’s eyes were drawn back to his own reflection, and he noticed that he was trembling in his chair. He managed to steady his limbs, but his hands only began twitching wildly instead. 

A tap on his shoulder. L looked up.

“Can I talk to him?” Sayu asked. Her voice was soft, almost inaudible. That smiling, boisterous girl from last night was gone.

L nodded, climbing out of his chair. He pointed. “You press that button and talk into the microphone.” Before she could thank him, he walked away, out of the room. As soon as he was out of everyone’s view, he slumped against the wall, sinking to the floor.

He had won. He had Kira, the _real_ Kira, the mastermind behind this entire thing, locked up. He had beaten Light in this ridiculous game of theirs. He’d solved the case, captured the bad guy… this was normally the time he would be celebrating. So why did he feel so empty?

From through the wall across from him, a head suddenly appeared, followed by a skeletal body and wings. Rem. And, behind her, another shinigami, of a totally different type. L pressed his back against the wall without thinking about it. It was difficult to read their nonhuman faces, but they both looked downcast.

L struggled to speak. “Hello…?” he said. “Rem, is it? And-”

“Ryuk,” he grumbled. On a second glance, this shinigami actually looked more tired, or maybe angry.

L bristled, shifting nervously, wishing he hadn’t near-literally backed himself into a corner.

Ryuk sighed. “Do you have any apples? I really need one right about now.”

Okay, tired it is then. And… that was the hint, about gods of death loving apples. Not all gods of death, just this particular one that Light knew. That had to be how he’d found the bugs and cameras: he’d bribed Ryuk with apples.

Realizing he had just been staring, L nodded suddenly and stood. “Yeah. I’ll show you where they are.”

* * *

“Light, are you awake?”

Her brother didn’t stir. He just lay on the prison bed, curled into a ball away from the camera.

Sayu took a breath, and tried again. “I… I just… you’re Kira. I never would have known. I’m so stupid. I should have known from the beginning.” She paused again, and this time her breath came in shaky. “You became more distant, over the years, and I tried finding out why, but… I’m not as smart as you. I never was.” 

Still, nothing. 

Sayu bit her lip, staring at her brother. Laying there, in a prison cell. She stared up at the ceiling, trying to keep from crying, but it didn’t work. She broke, her shoulders shaking as the sobs ripped from her throat. “I wish everything would go back to normal!”

She slammed the side of her fist down on the buttons, shutting off the video and audio at once, and stumbled over to her mother. The three remaining members of the Yagami family wept together. 

Recorded, but unseen, Light cut open his wrists on the sharp piece of his handcuffs, smearing his blood across the wall. The single splash of bright color in the dull grey room.


	5. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wake up in a strange bed,  
> angels over my head,  
> one of them is shouting, "Clear!"  
> A thousand bolts of lightning bring me back to life  
> and it's a miracle that I'm still here.  
> As I'm coming to, I'm screaming out for you,  
> I need you by my side.
> 
> \- Gareth Emery: "You"

L pushed the button to turn the video back on, and exhaled like the air had been knocked from his lungs. Red letters on the grey concrete wall. Light himself, slumped underneath them, shadows darkening under his eyes. Before L had the chance to switch off the video, he heard Sayu scream. Turning, he saw Soichirou collapse to his knees. 

L darted from the room, toward where they were containing Light. 

The halls and staircases blurred and spun around him as L sprinted to Light’s cell, as though his own life was in danger. He grabbed the key from his pocket and, the moment he arrived, slid it into the lock. As he unlocked it, he pressed the button to signal Watari of a medical emergency.

Shoving the cell door open, L could hardly believe what he saw. Light lay still on the floor, blood dry on his fingers and wet on his wrists. Two small pools of crimson were forming where his arms lay on the floor. The only sign of life was the shallow rising and falling of his chest.

L ran to Light, grabbed his arms and removed the handcuffs. “Light-kun, stay with me.”

Light didn’t respond at all, but he helped L somewhat as he picked him up off the floor. Even given the fact that Light was supporting some of his own weight, he still didn’t seem as heavy as he should be. How much blood had he lost? Death occurred at half to two-thirds of total blood lost, but serious symptoms and unconsciousness begin at as little as 30 percent. L couldn’t be sure how much exactly was smeared across that wall.

L began to chew nervously on his lip as he dragged Light from his containment cell. He didn’t turn around. Didn’t want to read the word written on the wall in the murderer’s blood.

_Killer._

* * *

Ryuk groaned. He’d floated down with him and was now flying behind L, who was leading a staggering Light. It would almost be a comedic sight if it weren’t for the blood still trickling down Light’s arms. Ryuk bit into the apple L had provided for him. Nice and juicy. He would miss this.

Discreetly, Ryuk pulled his Death Note from his pocket. It wasn’t doing anybody, least of all himself, any good for Light to keep hanging around. Better to just kill him now and get it over with. Ryuk would miss the entertainment, but it wasn’t as though Light was going to be providing any more of that in any case.

Just as he had written the first stroke of the first character, L looked over his shoulder. “Don’t.”

Ryuk laughed, but only for a second. He put his Death Note back into his pocket. “Why not?”

"Because he is going to renounce the Death Note. And then, you are going to return his memories to him."

"Impossible, I can’t-”

L gave a withering glare at the shinigami. He didn’t like to be insulted with a lie so blatant he could pick it out in less than a sentence. "It isn't impossible. You will do it. And then, you'll have a great story to share with your friends, wherever you come from."

At those words, Light stirred, his eyes opening only a sliver. He clutched tightly to L, finally opening his mouth. He whispered, "Kill me..."

L inhaled sharply. He bit down too hard on his lip, and tasted blood in his mouth. 

“See? Even Light wants to die.”

If all shinigami were this callous, L had no idea how Light ever managed to keep one around. “He’s delirious from blood loss.”

Fortunately for them both, Ryuk didn’t press the issue any further. If anything, he seemed to be intrigued with why L, Kira’s sworn enemy, was trying so hard to keep him alive.

Light’s eyes fluttered and shut again, but he continued to move alongside L. They entered an elevator that sat on this floor by default for emergency purposes.

What did he mean, _kill me_? Was it a challenge? A plea for help? Or something else entirely? L tried to approach the problem with a clear mind, but it was impossible. Someone he had once called his friend was dying from self-inflicted wounds.

The elevator doors opened again and L carried Light out. “Light-san,” he said, “we are nearly at the medical facility.”

At the first door, they entered, and the medical team that Watari had summoned greeted them immediately. 

One nurse took Light from L’s arms and laid him onto a stretcher that was already available. Another performed various checks and tests. And then, they were all gone, off somewhere to sew up those gashes and give him transfusions and pain medication and whatever else they needed to do to save him.

As L stood there in the small room, he became aware suddenly of the warm wetness covering his right shoulder. He looked. Light’s blood had seeped into his shirt, staining it a bright crimson. As he stared at the lonesome bit of color amid the white room and his grey clothes, L suddenly became aware of the growing divide between himself and Light.

Of course this was happening. Something would be wrong if it wasn’t. After all, Light was a murderer, and L, a good man. Although, L would have thought…

Shaking his head, L looked away from the hallway down which Light and the medical professionals had disappeared. He would return to the main room, and comfort Light’s family.

* * *

It was less than an hour before he received a call - on his cell phone for obvious security reasons - from Watari.

“Light is alive,” he said immediately, assuaging the worst of L’s fears. “And he will stay that way.”

“Mm.” L hummed curtly in lieu of speaking, because he was finding that difficult at the moment for some reason.

“He would like to speak with you, if you will allow it.”

 _Light? Wants to talk to me?_ L was confused, but couldn’t find any reason he should say no. “Put… put him through.”

“Most definitely.”

A silence, and a slight crackling noise. Then, the quiet sound of pained breathing. 

“L,” Light said. His voice was hoarse, but stronger than it was before. L tried not to remember the words he’d said. _Kill me._

“Light-san. You aren’t dead. That’s good.”

A very slight huff of breath. “I guess.”

 _Do you still want to die, Light?_ He wanted to ask, but didn’t.

Instead, it was Light who broke the silence. “You know…” his voice cracked from dryness. “Even though… I’m a murderer… I still want to be your friend. That’s…” he coughed, “that’s stupid right? I know. But I really do want to be your friend. L…” a sharp intake of breath cut off his words. Likely his wounds were hurting him.

L stood alone in the hallway, looking puzzled at the blank wall. Light was telling the truth. He had to be. Every single tonal marker L had identified told him so. But… 

There was nothing after that. It just didn’t seem right. Not because he had gauged the probability of it to be low, or because there was evidence against it. It was for no logical reason at all that he hadn’t expected this.

L knew that the socially appropriate thing to do was to reply with his own feelings. But he was not hopeful about the reaction he would get from an already emotionally unstable Light.

L sighed, and said it anyway. “Light-san. There is a less than 1 percent chance, logically speaking, that we could be friends.”

He couldn’t watch Light flinch, but he could hear it in the silence through the phone. Even for him, that was very blunt. To say that to a man who had just nearly killed himself…

L added, voice quiet: “That is _logically_ speaking.”

“If you were to percentage it _illogically…_ what would it be, L?” The slightest bit of hope was evident in Light’s voice. 

L chewed on his pinky for a long moment before he replied. “I doubt I can estimate... how much I want to be friends with you, Light-san. After all, you were my… first… my first friend, and perhaps my only friend. I don’t think Misa really counted.” He tipped his head back, looking at the identical circular lights that lined the ceiling. “But that all is illogical, and should therefore be ignored.”

“So we…” Light’s breath hitched. “We could be friends, again?”

He sounded… so happy. 

Why did the question of a killer make L’s chest ache so badly?

“There is only a slim chance.” L said what he needed to. What made sense. What was logical. And then… “But… yes, we could be friends, Light-kun.”

An intake of breath through the phone. “You… called me…”

“It was a slip-up. Merely that and nothing more. It will not happen again.”


	6. Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a sickness inside you that wants to escape:  
> it's a feeling you get when you can't find your way.  
> So how many times must you fall to your knees?  
> Never, never, never, never, never do this again!
> 
> It starts with pain, followed by hate...  
> Now I don't believe men are born to be killers,  
> and I don't believe this world can't be saved...
> 
> \- 12 Stones, World So Cold

“Thank you for talking with me. I know it’s late.”

“I wanted a second opinion. I want to make sure I’m not going crazy.”

“You know I disapprove of killing criminals. Whether it’s the government or an individual. It was what put me on the opposite side from him in the first place.”

“You know where I’m talking about, I see. Do you think we could put him there?”

“Yes, I know. I’m prepared to do that myself.”

“We’ll see. Maybe he will and maybe he won’t. I don’t want to do that unless it’s necessary.”

“I… I don’t know. I’ve never been less sure of myself than I am right now.”

“I suppose I believe it’s _possible_ that he can change... Not likely, or probable, but I’ve chased less likely possibilities than this in the past. You remember. I just keep thinking that I-”

“Yes, that’s exactly it.”

“As soon as possible.”

“Yes, I agree. As soon as he’s well enough to walk unaided.”

“Thank you again, Watari. Please get some sleep now.”

* * *

The silence in the car was so fragile it seemed to slowly break apart with every breath. Every time Light exhaled, the atmosphere grew tenser; every slight shift of L’s face or hands made Light more nervous. He had sat there in silence, as they drove... somewhere. They passed through a tunnel, the same one that his father had taken him through when he was taking him and Misa to their supposed execution.

Was it real, this time?

Was L going to kill him?

Light let out a shuddering breath and shifted in the passenger seat so that he was facing L. “Um…” he said. “Where… where are we going?”

L glanced toward Light before his eyes returned to the road. They exited the tunnel, driving over the overpass and out of the city. “We are going far away.”

“You’re not… I mean you’re....” He couldn’t get the words out. It wasn’t that he was afraid to die. He  _ wanted  _ that. But maybe, for once in his life; he wanted to believe... that someone wanted to be around him. Even to just ride in the same car, without fear. Maybe that was why he wanted to believe that the one person who… who really  _ understood  _ him, didn’t want him dead.

Or maybe that was just more reason to die. 

“What are you so afraid-” L glanced again at him and sighed heavily. “No, I’m not going to kill you. I wouldn’t have saved you before if I wanted you dead. And, besides… There was a reason I asked your father to pretend to kill you, that time. I would not have been able to play the part convincingly. I am a detective, Light-san. I _save_ people.” L hummed a monotone note. “I do mean what I said. We are going far away. To ensure you will not need to interact with other people.”

Light’s eyes widened a bit, and he brought his - unrestrained - hands to his lips. “You mean… I won’t be able to hurt anyone?” His voice was quiet, but, for the first time in many days, hopeful. “Especially… not you?”

L watched as a flush spread across Light’s cheeks. Could this be an act? L didn’t understand the reason for Light’s words. _Especially not me? Why “especially”?_

“Are you alright, Light-san?” he was compelled to ask. Wait, that was a horrible way to phrase that. He tried again, “I mean, I know you aren’t _alright_ , but do you think-”

Light shook his head. “Please stop being so kind to me, L.”

The way Light stared at him made L’s face warm. He glanced away. “What do you mean, Light-san?”

Light swallowed, but said nothing. There was tension across his face. 

L didn’t ask about it. 

Eventually, after an eternity of silence passed staring out of windows, they arrived. L placed a hand gently on Light’s shoulder for a second. “We’re here.” He pulled away, leaving the car.

Light kept on sitting there, staring at the seat L just left. So L rounded the front of the car and opened Light’s door for him.

He looked almost startled to see L there, recoiling away into the darkness inside. But he saw L’s outstretched hand, and, after a long second of staring, took it.

L helped Light out of the car and into the bright, blinding sunlight. He could tell it was taking Light’s eyes a second to adjust. When he stopped squinting and opened his eyes properly, he gasped. 

It was a marvelous sight. The house was white and blue, modeled from the Victorian style that L had seen in England. It had many large windows, a circular porch at the top of the front steps, several second-story balconies, and a red brick chimney off to the side of the house that contained his personal library. Through the window, L could see the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

Turning to Light, L smiled. “Do you like it?”

Light nodded mutely. He licked his lips, as though the sight of such a beautiful house had dried his mouth. “It’s incredible.”

Suddenly short of breath, L took the keys from his pocket and walked up the front steps. He could hear Light’s footsteps on the stairs behind him.

He turned the lock, and opened up the door. He quickly kicked off his shoes in the foyer, content with the vastly superior feeling of bare feet on the hardwood floor. Light followed him inside and took off his shoes as well, although he was wearing socks. L still didn’t understand why people did that.

As he turned around, he saw that Light was scratching at the cuts on his arms. Small drops of blood were beginning to form as he opened up the scars that had just finished healing. L would have to bandage those up.

For now, though, he said, “Welcome to your new home, Light-san.”

"Home...? I thought I was going to prison... Or would get the death penalty..." Light said. "So unless someone is waiting to shoot me, which is unlikely... Am I under house arrest?"

Cautiously, as though approaching a sleeping bear, L moved toward Light, and placed a hand on his arm. He stopped scratching, looked at L. “Light-san. You are here to try to calm your emotional state. I hope that you will also live out the rest of your life here. Your punishment is solitude from the outside world, and also, to see the videos from those who lost their friends and family to Kira. Many people you killed were innocent, Light-san.”

Whatever breath, whatever sanity, Light had gotten back was abruptly stolen from him. He nodded absently. And then, his hands twitched. Not an inward gesture. They weren’t going to scratch up his arms again. No, they wanted to do something worse.

The vision came to him instantly. His hands around L’s pale throat. He could catch him by surprise and slam him up against the wall, lift him up from the ground, watch the life fade from his eyes as his face turned purple-

Light jumped away from L, clawing at his arms. If his hands were going to destroy someone, they ought to destroy himself. Destroy those thoughts. The air all drained from the room until there was none left. Light gasped like a man drowning.

L’s head tilted aside. “I did not think you would react so strongly, Light-san… Perhaps you need to sleep-”

Shaking, Light’s body crashed into the wall as he sunk to his knees, still gripping his arms as tightly as he could. But as he reigned in his murderous hands, the monster inside him made itself known through his mouth. His consciousness snapped, and Kira screamed out in his place.

“I AM JUSTICE!” 

“I AM THE LEADER OF A GLORIOUS NEW WORLD!”

“YOU ARE THE _ENEMY_!”

Light didn’t believe anything he was saying, but he couldn’t stop his lips from speaking any more than he could stop his lungs from gasping for air after every sentence. And he couldn’t stop himself from lunging at L.

Light tried desperately to regain control of his own body, but Kira was too strong, and he was too weak. But just as he was about to seize L, he felt a sharp pinch in his neck, the sharp pressure of an instant injection.

“I’m sorry, Light-kun.”

As his consciousness faded from him, he whispered to L: “I’m sorry… Ryu...”


	7. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I ponder of something great.  
> My lungs will fill and then deflate.  
> They fill with fire, exhale desire;  
> I know it's dire, my time today.
> 
> Sometimes quiet is violent.  
> I find it hard to hide it,  
> my pride is no longer inside  
> it's on my sleeve  
> my skin will scream  
> reminding me of  
> who I killed inside my dream
> 
> \- Twenty One Pilots: “Car Radio”

Light’s eyes slowly opened, but he wished they hadn’t. He recalled that horrible outburst from… yesterday? It was probably yesterday. His thoughts had become an endless stream of _you fucked up_. 

He lifted his head and realized he was tied to a bed with his arms above his head and his ankles bound together. The room had gotten very cold overnight, almost cold enough to see his breath condensing in front of him.

 _These are probably to try to make sure I don’t hurt myself,_ Light thought with contempt. He shouldn’t need such precautions taken. He should be dead by now. Why was L trying to keep him from meeting the end they both wanted him to?

Why was L saving him when he should know better than anyone that Kira is better off dead?

A door opened, the light behind the figure silhouetting him against its brightness. Light struggled to keep looking at him, heart thudding painfully in his chest. A light switch flipped on, and a room heater kicked in. L walked over from where he stood in the doorway, an unreadable stare in his eyes.

“L,” Light said, tilting his head aside. “I… I…” he winced. His arms had rubbed against their bonds, fabric rather than metal but still abrasive on the freshly rawed skin. And he'd remembered again the horrible things he had wanted to do, and almost done, yesterday.

L stepped closer, straightening his posture, slowly reaching out and touching Light’s arm. Light was surprised: his nerves didn’t prickle at the touch of another person. The overhead lights shone in L’s eyes. Light wanted to say something, he wanted to say everything, but he had no idea what to say, and so he stared and said nothing.

L sighed. “Light-san. We’re going to make you renounce ownership of the Death Note. Afterward, Ryuk will restore your memories.”

Light gaped at him. After a few seconds, he shut his mouth again. 

L tilted his head aside. He leaned over the bed, smiling encouragingly. Like he was trying to say _you’ll be okay._

Light looked away. “I don’t know if you could but… would you please remove these restraints?”

“Of course. It was only to ensure you didn’t harm yourself while you slept or when you woke up again.” He scurried to the top of the bed, untying whatever intricate knots he had created. 

When his wrists were free, Light sat up. He moved his hands to his lap and left them there; they were steady now. It seemed that Kira was gone, at least for the time being. Still, he looked over those hands, every crease and line in them, and recalled what they’d looked like, covered with crimson. It hadn’t been anyone else’s blood but his own, but when the doctors washed it off it had still felt like they were absolving him of his sins. 

He realized now that they could do no such thing. Nobody could.

“Light-san? I’m untying your legs now. To be sure, you are in a stable emotional state? Not likely to freak out?” L was leaning over the foot of the bed now, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Light nodded absently. “Yes, thank you. I think I’m stable, for now. I won’t freak out… probably.”

“That’s good enough.” The final knot came undone, and L stood straight and walked back around the bed.

Light stretched out his legs, letting out a soft groan as a cramp that had been building faded away. 

“Ryuk? Please come here now.” Through the wall that led to the hallway, Ryuk came floating in. His expression was indecipherable, even to Light, who has spent more time around him than any living human likely had. Was he disappointed? Why was Light so worried about disappointing a shinigami?

“Light,” L said. Again with that knife-sharp voice. 

Light snapped back to attention. “Yes?”

“Do you relinquish ownership of this Death Note?” He held up the first notebook, the original, the one Light had gotten from Ryuk.

“Yes.”

“And this one, that Ryuk has brought from your desk drawer at home?” L held up the second one.

Before Light could react to that statement, Ryuk chimed in. “Don’t worry, I didn’t set your house on fire.” Was Light imagining it, or did the shinigami sound almost… friendly?

“Set your house on-” L started to ask about it, but gave up. “Never mind. Light-san, do you?”

Light exhaled the breath he’d been holding, and shut his eyes. “Okay, then, yes. I relinquish ownership of this Death Note as well.”

Sudden disorientation-

And then the memories returned, not in a flood all at once like the last time, but as a passive background to his thoughts, contextualizing the situation. 

“Thank you, Ryuk,” Light said, looking up. He didn’t have to fake his appreciative smile. “Goodbye.”

Ryuk smiled back, and gave a little bow. “Goodbye, Kira. The most interesting human I’ve ever met.” Then he leapt up and flew through the ceiling, and Light knew he would never see him again.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about what a god of death thinks about you,” L said, dragging the pad of his index finger over his chin, standing in front of Light.

He nodded. L reached out to him then, and gently placed his hand on Light’s chest. His face was concerned, but he wasn’t looking Light in the eyes. Instead, he stared at where his hand lay. It was as though he was looking straight at Light’s heart, and he was worried by what he saw.

Light was worried by what might be in his heart, too.

But L’s hand didn’t stay there. It shifted across his chest, his shoulder, and down his arm to his wrist. He pointed at the uncovered cuts on the insides of Light’s forearms.

“I should bandage those. It seems the stitches have fallen out already…” L’s voice trailed off as he noticed that Light’s eyes were fixated on his face. His breaths clouded the air between them. “Let’s go somewhere warmer while the heaters kick in. It was a cold night last night.” He took Light’s hand and tugged him up.

“Hey, um… L?”

“Yes, Light-kun?”

“Thank you.”

* * *

L told Light to put on the fire in the library - it was a gas fireplace, so all he had to do was turn a knob under the mantle - and he would return with some disinfectants and bandages. The room was nearly as cold as the one he was just in, but when he put the fire on it became immediately warmer. He hadn’t been aware how frigid his fingers were until he held them up to the fire and they began to tingle. He breathed in the scent of gas and old books, and waited for L to return.

In a minute, L came back as he’d said he would. And they sat beside the fire, warming up in its heat, as L disinfected and then meticulously wrapped Light’s arms. 

“You will need to shower soon,” L mused, hands not so much as pausing in his work. “After that, please come to me again so I can bandage these.”

Light blinked, registering L’s words. “But… I don’t have any clothes here. Do I?”

“We are nearly the same size, down to our height,” L mused as he tied a knot in one bandage near Light’s elbow. “And I have plenty of clothes here. You can wear mine.”

L focused quite myopically on the process of helping to heal Light’s injuries. If he thought too much about anything else, he would get worried, and then he would get sentimental, and it would definitely be a bad idea to get too attached. The end goal was to help Light, but in the meantime... L knew that Light had wanted to kill him once. He might want to kill him still.

Despite the emotion necessarily attached to such a statement, L couldn’t quite make himself believe it. Not right now. Right now, Light was watching him, and in brief glances L was looking up to watch Light in return. Two days of stubble dusted Light’s jawline, and his hair was a bit of a mess… nothing unusual, considering the circumstances. But he looked at L with wonder and gratitude, and the corners of his lips kept twitching as though he didn’t yet realize he wanted to smile. And his pupils were dilated. That was the most damning piece of evidence. That’s something that cannot be faked.

Maybe yesterday, Light had wanted him dead. Maybe he would tomorrow. But not today. Today Light was healing. And perhaps, with time, and some amount of the collusion of random probabilities that people often consider “luck”, Light could heal enough that he would not want anyone dead, ever again. It had been hard for L himself to come to that conclusion, once. He hoped that Light could do it too.

There was a small cut near the middle of Light’s bottom lip. It was the only thing L hadn’t fixed, and it could use a bit of cleaning too. He picked a different ointment from the pile he’d brought over besides the one he’d used on Light’s arms, and unscrewed the small cap.

“Light-san, come here.”

Light leaned forward, and so did L. But while Light stared into L’s eyes, L focused on his work. He squeezed a tiny drop of the balm onto his thumb and reached up, running it across Light’s bottom lip. 

Light winced, head twitching like he wanted to turn away, but his gaze met L’s again within a few seconds. “L…” he whispered.

And over the sound of warning bells - over the thoughts that screamed _stop it, he still wants to hurt you and everybody else_ \- L allowed himself to lean closer. The distance between them grew shorter, and shorter, and before either of them could register what was happening-

_Knock-knock-knock._

They scrambled away from each other in opposite directions, as though whoever it was would have seen them through the wall. 

L stood, brushed off his clothes, and walked to the door. “Hello? Ah, Soichirou. Come in.”

Light must not have heard that correctly. But what else could he have heard? He sat there on the library floor, dumbfounded. _...Dad?_

* * *

Soichirou’s features were a mask, betraying no hint of his real emotions. Light squirmed under his father’s gaze, unable to meet his eyes, but he stood up anyway. Soichirou walked in measured paces over to his son, and lifted his hand from his side.

Light flinched, already imagining the back of that hand crossing his face. Imagining the shouting, the scorn, the disgust. His face remained scrunched like that, eyes nearly shut, like he was thinking, _please just get it over with._

But Soichirou did not strike his son. He lifted that hand to his own face and slowly rubbed it across his forehead. He heaved a sigh that made his shoulders droop, and stepped backwards until he collapsed onto the couch. 

Light blinked, like he wasn’t sure where to look: at his father's tired face, or at L, who was watching curiously from the window seat. Light settled for neither, deciding to look down at his hands, and the bandages covering his arms. 

The cuts itched slightly, almost begging for attention. He brushed a hand over them. But they would never heal if he continued to pick them apart, so he returned his hands to his lap, laced his fingers together and waited.

No matter what happened, this would not be a pleasant conversation.


	8. Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let me breathe you in, and break the words in your mouth;  
> inside your shivering, the silence shouts so loud.  
> I just want to, I just want to stay around.  
> And while my heart beats, I promise I won't let you down.
> 
> \- Gareth Emery: “Concrete Angel”

L was nowhere near perfect at understanding family dynamics, not having had a family of his own in sentient memory. But even he could tell the conversation went extraordinarily badly.

After a few minutes of calm, Light had started to feel sick. And in response, Soichirou’s mask had cracked, revealing the anger underneath. He began yelling at his son, saying that this weakness was unacceptable, that Light shouldn’t feel bad for himself, and that it was his own fault for failing as a father. L had tried to step in, to stop Light from freaking out and stop Soichirou from yelling, but he couldn’t. He had never been a very good mediator.

The whole thing ended with Soichirou storming out the door and slamming it behind him, and Light sobbing on the floor. L sat beside Light, gently rubbing circles into his back.

* * *

After some time, L had suggested that Light move to the couch, and so he’d laid down across it. L brought him a white plush-covered pillow from the window seat; Light held it tightly to his chest. And now L sat on the floor in front of the couch, watching, holding one of the cuffs of his jeans in one hand and Light’s hand in the other.

Light had stopped shaking, though his eyes were still red. He sniffled and squeezed L’s hand as he said, “At least that’s over with... I won’t… have to worry about it anymore.”

“Were you worried?” It wasn’t so much that Light hadn’t looked worried, but that he had been so worried about so many different things that L would not have been surprised if this thing in particular had slipped through.

Light nodded immediately. “I was terrified that my family would hate me… I don’t need to be afraid anymore, though… since now I know it for sure.”

L shook his head. _Were you even listening to your father?_ “Light-kun-”

“It’s okay. In a weird sort of way, I feel better now.” Light smiled, and there was pain in it, but also genuine happiness. The first little bit of it that L had seen from him. Not just since he had confessed, but ever. Light was always upset, frustrated, angry, or bored. The most positive emotion he came close to was determination, when he’d vowed to catch… himself… during the time he’d forgotten he was Kira. Well, he had actually kept that promise.

L was mesmerized by that slight little smile. And also the curve of Light’s cheek, and the curl of his eyelashes, and the lights shining in his auburn eyes. But Light didn’t notice him staring: he had looked past L, transfixed by a painting on the opposite wall. It wasn’t possible to cover this entire room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, so L had needed to find something else to put on the walls. This one was a watercolor painting of a hummingbird drinking from a flower.

Light studied the painting, and L studied Light. 

“Would you like something to eat, Light-kun?” L asked abruptly. “I can tell you’re hungry, so it’s more a question of what to eat than whether.”

Light met L’s eyes, contemplating the idea. “Something with pork would be nice. Maybe… sweet and sour?”

Chuckling, L responded, “I don’t think there are any Chinese restaurants in this area. But, I’m sure I can find a recipe for it online. I asked Watari to fully stock the kitchen here before we arrived, so I should have the ingredients as well.” He poked his cheek with his index finger, leaving it there. “Would you like to make food?”

“I mean, I- I can do it…”

“I didn’t ask _Light Yagami, could you prepare sweet and sour pork right now if your life depended on it._ I asked if you wanted to. I can assume the answer is no by the hesitation in your voice. Next question: can I leave you for the duration of the food preparation process, or should I have someone come to prepare it for us?”

L stood from the floor and sat awkwardly on the sliver of remaining space on the couch, running his fingers quickly through Light’s messy bangs to straighten them. “Which one would you prefer, Light-kun? As I’ve said, the goal is for you to heal. What would help you?”

Light’s lip quivered, but he stifled his tears, only clutching the pillow more tightly. After a moment he released his death grip. “I’ll be okay by myself. Thank you so much for offering to cook for me.”

L smiled and stood, resuming his typical slumped-over posture. “Alright,” he said, “I’ll check in when I can. Call if you need anything.”

And with that, L left, and Light was alone.

* * *

As L was busy with cooking, Light sat up slowly from where he laid on the couch, still holding the pillow to his chest. There was a flatscreen TV hanging above the mantle, and what looked to be a remote control sitting on the edge of a nearby bookshelf. Light picked it up, and pressed the power button.

On the screen appeared a photograph of a grey room, the back wall streaked with crimson. A reporter, who was obviously feigning every ounce of concern in her voice, spoke in the background: “- have confirmed that Kira’s reign of terror has come to an end. The mass-murderer Kira, otherwise known as To-Oh University student Light Yagami, committed suicide in his holding cell on August 10th at 6:52PM, according to the coroner’s report.”

Another photo came to the screen. Light’s chest tightened. He’d known he was being recorded, but how did the media get ahold of that picture? 

Behind the reporter’s ongoing drone, there was a photo of Light himself, laying against in his cell, a patchwork of scars down both his arms each centered by a long vertical slice, his skin deathly pale and his eyes hollow. Even his chest was empty, concave at the bottom of a breath. With everything else, the stillness of the photograph created a convincing facsimile of death.

The guilt and shame crawled up Light’s back. He’d been so close to killing Kira for good that day. Why had L stopped him?

And then, over top of that gruesome scene, in the corner there displayed the photo that had been taken of him on his first day at To-Oh. That Light was smiling, with lively color in his skin and fire in his eyes. Light remembered having that photo taken. He’d been affecting his _placate the mundanes_ smile that he always used for photos. That same smile was looking back at Light, his own eyes staring at him from the screen, mocking him. _Here’s what your life could have been if you hadn’t been an idiot. You could have been the top student at Japan’s best university, done anything you wanted with your life. But you’re stuck here, being coddled by your enemy._

CRASH!

“L? Are you alright?” Light stood quickly at the loud sound. He blacked out momentarily and stumbled, catching himself on the arm of the couch.

L called something back from the kitchen, but Light couldn’t make out his words.

He stood there until his vision cleared, then walked over as quickly as he could with socks on hardwood. 

But when he arrived, he burst out laughing. L was sitting on the floor looking dazed, a few pots having fallen around him. His nose, and part of his left cheek, were covered with flour.

“L, what happened?” Light gasped, a grin spread across his face. “Why do you have flour on your nose?”

L tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to swipe the flour off. “I had gotten out the ingredients and was trying to find the right pan for this. As I was looking, I nudged this bag, and it spurted flour in my face. Then, in trying to push the flour bag away so it wouldn’t happen again, I nudged a pan, and they were stacked such that they all fell onto the floor.” He stood up amidst the chaos, and crossed his arms petulantly.

Light walked over, gently wiping the remaining flour from L’s face. It was much easier for him, since he could see what he was doing. And then they just stood there together, facing one another. L looked askance, chewing his lip.

Light spoke quietly into the small space between them, “What is it, L?”

“Light-kun… you appear to care about my wellbeing enough to be trusted. I currently estimate only a 12 percent chance you will harm me, and that number is dropping by the minute.”

Light felt his cheeks warm as he smiled at L. "I’m glad... I’m glad to hear that."

Clearing his throat, L moved away, picking up the pots and pans that were scattered on the floor and quickly placing them back onto the counter, not stacked on top of each other this time. And as he was faced away from Light, he mumbled something.

Light tilted his head aside. “What did you say?” He stepped closer, rested a hand on L’s shoulder. When L turned slowly to face him, he looked oddly... vulnerable. Light didn’t think he had ever seen L like this.

“My name…” he said, “My real name, is L Lawliet.”

Light blinked. 

“You can call me Lawliet, if you want to.”

And suddenly Light burst into a fit of giggles, covering his lips with his fingers.

“Light-kun? What is it?” 

“I’m sorry, I just can’t believe your real first name is L. Just _L_. You told me you’d lived in England, is that where you grew up? Is L a normal English name?”

“No, I don’t think it is. I don’t know anyone else named L.” He bit the edge of his thumb. “I’m curious why you find my name so funny. No-one else has had that reaction, of the admittedly few who know.”

“I suppose it’s partially because... Kira was way closer than he thought, to knowing your name. But he didn’t think to look in the obvious place, didn’t think that anybody would actually be named _L_. I’m glad he was such an idiot, though. Because otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to be with you now.”

L wanted to say something about the way Light was referring to Kira as though he were a separate person. But launching into a lecture about taking responsibility for actions didn’t seem like it would be a good idea. Light might seem happy now, but his mental state had been all over the place today. And besides, even if that weren’t the case, L could hardly bring himself to ruin that smile.

“Only call me that name if you like it, okay?” His lips pulled a bit aside as he looked at Light, searching for the slightest trace that he was even thinking about using his true name to kill him. The Kira that L knew would be frustrated or angry, hearing L’s name after he could no longer do anything with it. But there was no sign of such emotions. And there was not a simple pleasant smile of the sort a well-trained actor would use to cover them up, either. Instead, there was disbelief, relief, and caring. 

“I do like it. I’ve wanted to be friendlier with you, but I felt weird about doing that with a pseudonym. Even now I know it isn’t one, it still feels odd. But I like this name better, Lawliet-kun. Thank you for trusting me with it.”

L’s smile faded a little as he looked at the library door. “Light-kun,” he said, “I heard the news report. That must have been difficult to see. Let me go turn it off, and I’ll find you a book to read instead.”

Light watched as L walked back into the library, and the quiet droning noises of a reporter speaking clicked off. Then, a momentary pause, and the sound of paper set upon a hard surface. At last, L returned to the kitchen. “Done. I’ve set a book on the arm of the couch for you. It’s a lighthearted fantasy novel, so it shouldn’t be upsetting to you.”

“Thank you, Lawliet-kun. I really appreciate it. Um, I would like to ask... What _does_ the world think about Ki- eh, about me?”

“Outside of your family, who I doubt will contradict this story… the world believes you’re dead.”

Light stood there, staring at the wall. “I sure made it easy for you to fake my death, didn't I,” he muttered.

“Yes. Although, please don’t try to further my plans by nearly dying again.”

Light chuckled wryly. “Sure thing, Lawliet-kun.” He nodded, and made his way back to the library. Before he walked in, he looked over his shoulder. “You won’t have any more accidents, will you?”

“No, Light-kun. I will be fine.” His smile was evident in his tone. “Please, read for a while. I’ll let you know when your food is ready.”

* * *

Light was halfway through the novel when L poked his head through the door. It wasn’t that L was a slow cook so much that Light was a quick reader. 

“Light-kun, your food is ready. Would you like to eat here or in the dining room?”

Light set down his book and stood up, slowly, holding himself against the couch arm. Colored spots appeared and disappeared in his vision like dust in a shaft of sunlight, then cleared away. He stood straight and nodded. “Let’s eat in the dining room.”

L had served up two plates in the kitchen and set out two glasses of water, and they each took their plate and glass to the dining room. L sat on the far side of the table, but instead of sitting opposite him, Light walked around the table to sit at his side. 

The table was hardwood, covered with a white tablecloth embroidered with blue flowers. The same thick, soft carpet from the library, but in cream instead of violet, covered the floor, and a number of framed paintings and photographs were hung artfully on the walls. To the right from where they sat, a large arched window streamed in the cool light of evening.

L proffered a pair of chopsticks for him, and Light accepted them. They both clapped once - though L’s was more of a muted pressing-together of his fingers - and said in unison, “Thank you for the food.”

L must have seen how much Light’s face lit up when he had the first bite of his meal, because he reached over and poked Light’s cheek. “Remember not to eat too fast. You haven’t eaten nearly anything in two days.”

“Okay.” Light tried to force himself into taking L’s advice by talking instead. “So... um… any new mysteries for you to solve?”

L replied around a bite of his food. “Mm, no. Even if someone had contacted me, I would tell them I’m not taking any new cases for at least three months.”

Light took a small bite and swallowed before speaking again. “You’re not taking so much time away because of _me…_ are you?”

L turned to stare at him. “You say that like you think it’s a bad thing.”

“Well, I mean… I don’t want you taking time away from your life and wasting it on me.”

L tilted his head aside, still staring at Light, unblinking. “Why would time spent with you necessarily be wasted?”

Light let out his breath slowly, and didn’t answer. He only turned his head to look out the window. The sun was beginning to set outside, casting long shadows of the trees across the grass. 

L chewed on his lip, then took a sip of his water. It was very cold, or his face and hands were hot. Or both. “In any case, it’s not only about you. I always take at least a month off after solving such a complex case, and the Kira case was the most complex one I’ve taken yet. I want to be sure I’ve thought everything through and tied up every loose end, even the ones unnecessary for success.”

Light nodded. “That seems like a good thing to do.” He picked up another piece of pork, chewing on it slowly, savoring the taste. His gaze didn’t stray from the window.

Eventually, L stopped staring at Light and returned to his own food. 

“I ask because I was wondering…” Light took a gulp of water, set the glass down gently. “Maybe... I could help you? Next time?”

L frowned. “It depends on when _next time_ is. I wouldn’t want you trying to help and ending up hurting yourself.”

He nodded curtly. “I’ll do my best to get better so that I can be useful to you.”

L’s gaze snapped over to Light, but he was busy eating his food, not looking at him.

_You’re starting to sound like Misa, Light._

* * *

When they’d finished their meal, Light brought their dishes to the kitchen and set them into the sink, wincing as his arm brushed against the knob of a drawer. He noticed a patch of darkened blood that had seeped through to the surface of the cloth.

Careful not to wet his bandages too much, Light washed off their dishes, setting them in a rack beside the sink to try. He returned to the library, where he found L sitting in his typical crouched posture on the couch, reading a book.

Light walked over and cautiously sat on the couch’s opposite end, leaning away and picking up his own book.

“Light-kun,” L observed without looking up, “You couldn’t get further away from me if you tried. I may be used to living in this house by myself, but my preferred amount of personal space is not that large.”

“Oh.” Light looked over and noticed that L was right. He was even curled around the couch arm like he was trying to fall off the side. In reply, he scooted over. First to the middle of his own cushion, but he figured that wouldn’t satisfy L, so he moved to the center cushion. Less than a foot of space between them now. “Is that better?”

“Whatever you prefer, Light-kun. It just seemed you were trying to stay away from me, and I wanted to inform you that was unnecessary.” He still hadn’t looked up; in fact, partway through his sentence he’d turned a page.

Light looked over at L, at his unkempt hair and pale skin, his cut-glass features and grey eyes. And Light realized, looking at those eyes, that they were nothing like the grey of his prison cell. L’s eyes were the bright grey in the center of a sunset, where red-orange met dark blue, and the clash of colors cancelled each other out. 

“I notice you’re staring, Light-kun. Let me guess: you’re curious what book I’m reading.” He turned to look at him, turning his wrist so the book’s cover was visible. _Dune_ , it read. “Would you like to know what it’s about?”

Light nodded, “Yes please.” He reached up, ran his hand across L’s shoulder. “Could I… lay here?”

L looked over at Light, studying his face for a moment. Then he lifted his arm and laid it against the back of the couch.

Light scooted awkwardly closer, so that his thigh was nearly on top of L’s bare foot. He turned, laying his head on L’s chest. The fabric of his shirt was soft and warm against his cheek. He shut his eyes and smiled. “Thank you, Lawliet-kun. Are you comfortable?”

“Mhm.” He nodded. Then, slowly, almost hesitating, he leaned down and nuzzled Light’s hair.

Light’s breath came faster as he started to feel uncomfortably warm. But then L pulled away again, and Light let out a sigh. 

“ _Dune,_ ” L said, “is a book about the perils of becoming a god, or any type of godlike figure. In particular, it focuses on the zealotry that religions, political parties, and other ideals can produce in the people who follow them.”

It was distracting, the way L’s deep voice rumbled through his chest. But Light managed to pay enough attention to ask a moderately intelligent question. “You’ve already read it, Lawliet-kun?”

“Many times. I read it first as a child, but my mind returned to it as soon as I heard of Kira. I’ve read it three or four times over the past year.”

He read it because of Kira. That would mean… “You say the book is about people becoming gods, or something like it. Is the main character in the book like…” _Like me._ Light couldn’t say the last word aloud.

L seemed to understand him nonetheless. He shook his head. “No; in fact, I found the contrast very striking. In _Dune_ , Paul Atreides becomes a messiah through fate and circumstance, in spite of his personal wishes, and tries constantly to _avoid_ becoming a god. He makes choices according to what will help the most people, and accepting the mantle of messiah, and the title Emperor of the Universe, is an unwanted consequence. But Kira _actively sought out_ godhood, and though he may have had rationalizations for his actions, his goal was personal power above all else. So, whenever I began to rationalize Kira’s actions in my mind, I would reread this book.”

Light’s voice was quiet. “Is that why you’re reading it now?”

L paused, letting out breath through pursed lips. “I’m reading this book now because I am confused. Kira is nothing like Paul, but… lately, it seems that Light is. I was about to rebuke you earlier, when you talked about Kira as though he were another person and not simply an alias of yours. It isn’t as though I think of Eraldo Coil or Deneuve or Ryuzaki as different people from myself. But it’s so tempting to think of Kira as a different person from Light.”

Light shut his eyes and buried his face in L’s chest. “I have thought that way. But it’s not right. No matter what it might look like from the outside. I am Kira.”

L wanted to refuse, but he had absolutely no justification to do so. So he didn’t nod, either. Just returned to his book, and moved his arm from the back of the couch to Light’s shoulders, holding him close.


	9. Conjecture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the details with the devil  
> so now the world can never get me on my level  
> I just got to get you out the cage  
> I'm a young lover's rage  
> Gonna need a spark to ignite  
> My songs know what you did in the dark
> 
> \- Fall Out Boy: “My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might notice that I have a drawing for the image of Light in his cell linked in the chapter text. That is my own art.  
> Let me know if you guys like it: I might post more art related to this fic in the chapter notes and such.
> 
> Also: you will note I've moved the timeline backward about three months, so the Yotsuba arc concludes in early August instead of late October. This is one of several minor modifications to canon I've made for this fic. Just to let you know this is completely intentional.

r/conspiracytheories

Post title: Kira isn’t dead.

Date: August 10, 2007

Posted by: /u/kirasbiggestfan

This is an insane claim to make, I know. But I have evidence to back it up, I promise. This is my first post on this subreddit, so please let me know if I’m doing this wrong. I’m considering cross-posting to r/realconspiracies, but I worry the amount of evidence I have right now isn’t enough.

[ [image] ](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/9424b5_0b61d08b80ca41e1a46e1fbb0d4469ac~mv2.jpg)

I’m sure everyone here has seen this photo. It’s the one that INTERPOL released to the public, which was then broadcast around the world. It shows Light Yagami, AKA Kira, lying in his holding cell at Kira Task Force HQ, a building constructed within the past year by the detective L. We’re supposed to assume that, in this photo, Kira is dead. 

[image]

But look at this. If you zoom in on the bottom of the photo, there is a corner of a shadow. I put this through a photo enhancer, so you can clearly see that it’s the outline of someone’s hair, shadowed on the ground.

Now, this could be the coroner, or a doctor, or something. But look at the way their head is tilted. It looks like they’re running, doesn’t it? Why would someone be running if not to save him?

TL;DR: I think someone came to save Light (aka Kira), and he didn’t die in his cell.

Post comment by /u/cautiousobserver2222: Don’t you have a bit of a conflict of interest here, /u/kirasbiggestfan? Lol

Reply by /u/kirasbiggestfan: Maybe. What’s it matter? Evidence is evidence no matter who brings it up. XP

* * *

r/conspiracytheories

Post title: Reply to “Kira isn’t dead.” (Detailed analysis; long post.)

Date: August 11, 2007

Posted by: /u/cautiousobserver2222

I read a post about this on here yesterday. I initially thought it was dumb, but now that I’ve reviewed the evidence myself, I think /u/kirasbiggestfan has a point. Here’s a rundown of what I’ve come up with, and y’all can let me know whatcha think. I think we’re onto something.

[Linking to the original post so y’all know what I’m on about]

Ok so. Kira. Real name Light Yagami. He was supposed to have committed suicide in his cell at 6:52 pm yesterday. The image the police provided the media is pretty convincing, I’ll admit. He even wrote the English word “killer” on the wall. It seems pretty obvious he was trying to commit suicide out of guilt. The question we’re after is, did he succeed?

The evidence that kirasbiggestfan presented is… shaky at best. Yeah, I guess, if you squint at it, it looks like somebody might be running into the room from outside. Or maybe not. Maybe the person just has weird hair. Maybe both. It’s not enough to tell. 

But let’s get outside the physical evidence in the photos and look at the events before and after.

First of all: Light Yagami’s family never had a funeral. You would think they would have had him cremated and buried properly, right? Nope. Nothing in the obituaries says anything about it. And I checked all the temples near where they live, there haven’t been any recent burials under the name Yagami. Now, you can say that they had the ceremony alone, kept it off the obits for privacy or something, told the temples not to give out the info. But that’s way less likely. Everybody knows that Light is Kira, it’s not like they’re gonna save any face.

Second: doesn’t it seem suspicious that Kira died before he could get into police custody? I mean, it’s not like the police would have done anything besides kill him anyway, but still. I did a bit of searching and it doesn’t seem like the police ever even got ahold of his body. The only statement is that L says he caught Kira and then Kira committed suicide. He’s got a doctor testifying to that, but the doctor is on L’s payroll, so that’s sus.

“But cautiousobserver2222,” I can hear you thinking, “Why would L, the world’s best detective, voluntarily hide Kira, the world’s worst serial killer? What motive would he have?”

The answer is right there in the question. L is the world’s best detective. That’s gotta mean he’s super smart. Now, I don’t know what it’s like to be a genius, but I’ve gotta imagine it’s boring as shit. That, plus the fact that nobody’s ever seen him, and nobody but his handler can even contact him directly, makes me think that L has gotta be like, super lonely.

Now we come to Kira. He’s a serial killer, duh. But also smart enough to evade, not only L, but the entire Japanese police and a decent amount of the FBI. If there was ever gonna be anyone who would be able to match L’s intellect, it would be Kira. L didn’t even _catch_ Kira. He confessed! So the two of them are obviously intellectual equals.

I can’t tell you exactly why L would spend so much time and energy hiding Kira when he’d just got done catching him. (“catching him”, lol.) But I’ve got some ideas. Y’all saw the photos of Kira that got released with the broadcasts. I don’t even feel bad saying I would be head over heels for the guy if I met him in person. He’s stunning. So, I’m thinking, maybe, just maybe… ;)

Something to think about. I’ll keep y’all posted with my ongoing research.

Edit: I’ll be posting to the new sub r/conspKIRAcies from now on. Cross posting this for convenience.

Post comment by /u/kirasbiggestfan: I knew it!! Kira is alive!!!

Post comment by /u/cryptidhugger27: OP says they’re not a genius… roll to doubt. This is a hell of a detailed analysis to do in less than a day.

Post comment by /u/notableidiot: As ridiculous as it seems, I think OP has a point. I don’t know about the whole seduction thing, but then again I’m not into dudes, so maybe I just don’t understand his ~charm~. (Idk if L is into dudes either, tho.) But everything else OP said is kinda solid. I hadn’t thought of the lack of a funeral as anything odd before, but now that you mention it, that’s pretty damning evidence.

Post comment by /u/badatnamingthings19: “Kira seduced L into hiding him from the police” was not a take I expected to read today, or ever, but here I am I guess.


	10. Hearing Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always in this inner fight.  
> Do I listen to the voice that says,  
> I'm worthless, never will be right?  
> Do I try to keep my head up high?  
> Though I feel that I deserve it all,  
> these daggers going through my chest;  
> can't you see the devastated souls,  
> the remains of my own foolishness?
> 
> \- Nathan Wagner, Innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of L's birthday today, I've posted this chapter on the same day as the previous one. If you haven't read chapter 9 ("Conjecture"), please go back and read that first!

“I think I’d like to shower before I go to bed tonight, Lawliet-kun,” Light said as they wandered up the staircase that led toward their bedrooms.

L nodded. “I’ll come to check on you if you’re not back in half an hour. I don’t mean to invade your privacy, but-”

They reached the top of the stairs, and L turned around to see Light standing on the topmost stair, looking up at him. “I understand.”

L stepped back, letting Light into the upstairs hallway. He pointed at the bathroom door, and Light nodded mutely, walking over. 

Light pushed the door open and was greeted by blue and white. White tiles, blue shower curtain; white sink, blue towels. Two of them, hanging side-by-side on the towel rod. Both were embroidered with white thread in one corner with a cursive letter L. Light knew that both towels were L’s, but for just a moment he considered the idea that one of them was his. That was his first initial, after all, if one wrote his name using Roman characters.

He fidgeted with the shower knob for a moment before he figured out how to turn the water on, and did so. While the water warmed, he shut the curtain and lifted off his shirt. He could smell the sweat and blood on himself; it was good that he was washing up now. He unzipped and stepped out of his pants, and looked at his reflection in the mirror.

His hair was a messy tangle of oil and sweat. Dark bags were beginning to build under his eyes from the poor-quality or nonexistent sleep he’d been getting lately. And his face, that he’d always seen as striking, was now revealed as  _ thin _ . A person’s mental state could take a toll on their physical health, and Light’s mental state had been through a blender lately.

He glanced down at the bandages on his arms. The blood spots were dark, dried, and so he felt he could remove them. He was cautious, not because he was worried about making this worse accidentally, but because he was afraid he would be unable to stop himself from making it worse on purpose.

The bandages fell to the floor, and Light gathered them, throwing them into a trash can. The edges of the mirror were starting to grey with steam. Light felt the water, hot enough now, and stepped out of his underwear and into the shower. Warmth cascaded over his body, slamming onto his shoulders. He tipped his head back, letting the water pull back his bangs.

As the water ran over his forearms and the nerves prickled with painful static, he lifted them up and stared. Most of his forearms were a mottled mess of pink, red, orange, and white: scars in various stages of healing. The ones closer to his wrists had only just stopped bleeding. 

_ You’re pathetic. _

Light nodded. He knew that. It wasn’t news.

_ You’ve let everyone down. You’re a failure. _

He nodded again. That wasn’t news either.

_ And now you’re holding L up from getting on with his work. _

But… that wasn’t right. Light wasn’t forcing L to care about him. He  _ couldn’t _ . When he’d first made L care for him, he hadn’t meant to; as a matter of fact it had been inconvenient… to Kira, at least. He didn’t  _ want  _ L to care about him. But he did anyway. 

_ There is a very simple solution to the fact that your existence is holding him up. _

But L stopped him last time. And besides, some parts of today had been alright. Maybe even good. Light recalled the sound of L’s heartbeat as he laid against his chest-

_ That won’t last. You already know you’re never going to see your family again. Even if they didn’t hate you they wouldn’t see you. You’ll never be able to live a normal life cooped up here. The world knows you’re Kira, and thinks you’re dead. And no matter what you do, in a few months L will leave, and you will be all alone in this big, empty house. Just save him the trouble. _

Fine. What would he even use? He recalled the room. There was a window by the shower, but a fall from the second story had no guarantee of killing him, and there was no way to get to the roof from here. There was probably a razor in the drawers under the sink, but it was most likely one of those electric ones without removable blades. Not useful. 

_ Plastic bags, or any thick cloth. A blanket would do. How about that towel hanging on the rod outside the shower right now. _

That was right. He made to turn off the water-

Two loud knocks on the door startled Light, and he shouted, “Yeah?”

L said something, but Light couldn’t hear him over the water. He was about to say so when the door swung open and L’s footsteps padded across the tiles. Silhouetted in blue on the other side of the shower curtain, he said, “I wanted to come check on you.”

“I was, um, just about to start shampooing my hair,” Light said. 

“You were just standing under the water for thirty minutes, Light-kun?” L’s silhouette tilted its head aside. 

“I guess I just lost track of time.” That much was completely true.

“This might be irrational, and if so, I apologize. But I got very worried about you, being here alone. I didn’t know what could happen to you, but I was afraid something had nonetheless.” His posture slumped more than usual. 

“No, it… it’s okay.”

_ Worthless. _

“Shut up,” Light muttered.

“What was that, Light-kun?” L said.

“Oh, I just wanted to ask, um, you said you had clothes for me; I was wondering if you could get me some pajamas to change into, when I’m done.”

“Absolutely. I’ll be right back with those. May I… um. This will sound strange-”

“You’re going to ask if you can stay in here.” His brain didn’t stop working just because it wanted to kill him. “Yes, you can. I would like that, Lawliet-kun.” 

L’s arms shifted around, and then he walked out of the bathroom.

Light sighed, and found the shampoo bottle, pouring a glob of the white shiny liquid into his palm. It smelled strongly of tea tree oil, sharp and refreshing.

_ Weak. _

No. No, Light didn’t believe that.

_ Kira was strong. Kira didn’t flinch at the idea of evading the best detective in the world to make the world a better place.  _

Kira was evil. Light knew that.

_ Kira was doing what was necessary to fix a broken world. Kira was a soldier who killed the enemies to save the innocents. He made bad choices, wrong choices. But without Kira, the world returns to the way it was before. Ugly, crime-ridden, disgusting. _

It was wrong for him to take the law into his own hands like that-

_ The law is corrupt. Much more so than Kira, who personally researched the vast majority of the criminals he was to kill, ensuring that killing them would save more lives than it would end. _

But Kira killed petty criminals and innocent policemen-

_ NECESSARY SACRIFICES! _

The terrifying thing was, the logic of it made sense. It really shouldn’t, but it did. And yet there was a part of him that abjectly refused to accept Kira’s ideology. Not again. Because it would mean killing his only friend. And, as that friend had told him today: it had never been about the people, for Kira. It was about power. Regardless of what rationalizations he might give.

The bathroom door opened again, and L walked in. “Light-kun, I have your clothes.”

“Thank you,” Light said absently. He stepped back under the water and rinsed his hair out. “I’ll be done soon.”

“Take your time,” L said. And before Light could ask what he would be doing while he waited, he heard a page turn.

* * *

Light stepped out of the shower and noticed L was turned to face the wall, crouched on the floor, nose almost literally in his book. He’d set the clothes on a table opposite the shower. Light grabbed a towel and dried off, then put on the clothes L had brought him: a soft white t-shirt with no tags and the thin seams pressed flat, and a pair of loose flannel pajama pants.

“I’m dressed now, Lawliet-kun,” Light said. 

L stood quickly and turned around. His arms fell to his sides. “You um... “ he swallowed, “look nice. In those.”

Light smiled. “They’re very comfortable.”

L pulled a roll of bandages from his pocket and said, “I would like to redo your dressings.”

“Oh. Of course.”

* * *

They both left the bathroom. L pointed to another door across the hall. “That is one of the spare bedrooms. Let me know if you like it and I will move some clothes in for you.”

“Okay. Where will you-” He shouldn’t be saying that. The last thing he wanted to do was bother L. “Actually, nevermind, I don’t really need-” 

“My bedroom is that one,” he pointed to a door on the same side as the bathroom at the end of the hall. “Please don’t hesitate to bother me if there’s something you need. I mean that. I don’t sleep very much, so you won’t interrupt anything important.”

Light glanced down at the floor. He had become so much more obvious since he’d stopped being Kira. That shouldn’t be a bad thing, that L could clearly tell what he was thinking, but some part of him was still ashamed of showing weakness to him. Any type of weakness, including the simple act of telling the truth.

“Okay,” Light said. “I will.” And he meant it.

He took a step into the spare bedroom. The whir of a heater was a low hum of white noise in the darkness. He could see from the hallway light that the bed was right beside the door, so he didn’t bother turning the lights on. He simply set his mobile on the small end table, shut the door, and felt his way over to the bed.

The blankets were soft and comfortable, plush without any pilling, and there were a variety of pillows with different shapes and firmnesses. Light picked one that was closest to the ones he was used to from home… well, not home. Not anymore. His parents’ house, he should say. He set it in the center of the bed and climbed under the covers, taking a smaller and softer pillow and holding it between his knees.

He laid down, and shut his eyes. 

His brain stubbornly refused to let him sleep.

He was uncomfortable on his side, so he moved the pillow out from between his knees and laid on his back, arm draped over his face. That wasn’t comfortable either. He switched to a different pillow for his head and turned over, laying on his stomach. And for a little while, it seemed to work. But the feeling of his breath against the mattress became unbearable, and he sat up, groaning in frustration.

Light checked his phone. Just past midnight. He could still get some sleep. He should. He picked up a different pillow, and balled up the blanket so he could hold it in his arms, laying on his other side. He felt his consciousness drifting away…

Light sat rigidly upright at a hard desk in a dark room. There was a pen in his hand, and blank paper in front of him. The lines were thin and grey. Without even thinking, Light’s hand moved to the paper. No. No, don’t do this. He focused all his willpower on trying to pull back his arm, and at first his hand stuttered in its movement. But then, someone much stronger than him reached from inside his body and forced the pen onto the page. He tried to fight, but the grip was just too strong. Light’s breath came in quick and uneven, he started hyperventilating, but his hand didn’t even stutter as it wrote:

_ L Lawliet. _

Light shot up in bed, gasping for air. Just a dream. Of course it was a dream. But God, he had felt so helpless…

What would he even do? If he snapped, and killed L?

It wasn’t hard to kill a person. Even without a Death Note. Human beings were just so fragile. Take them outside the small range of experiences they’ve adapted to and they just… stop. 

He dug his nails into his forearms, but found them bandaged. His hands found a different thing to hurt. He scratched at his shoulders under the sleeves of his shirt. 

He stared out the window into the darkness, trying to ground himself. His eyes traced the branches outlining the tops of trees. If he stared hard enough, he could almost see the stars.

He didn’t know how long he stayed staring like that. His eyes were painfully heavy, but he kept sitting, scratching his shoulders absentmindedly, his back excessively straight against the stiff wooden headboard. Every time he tried to shut his eyes, his thoughts became a mess of loud static. Like his brain was trying to prevent him from sleeping, to avoid another dream like that.

Still, the longer he sat there, the worse the headache at the back of his skull got. He picked up his mobile from the end table and checked the time. Nearly 2am.

Would L really still be up?

Light stood slowly, shifting out from under the blankets. He stepped lightly, carefully, out his door and down the darkened hallway. L’s door was shut and latched, with no light coming from underneath. When he came to the end of the hall, he raised his hand to knock, but stopped.

This was silly. L had said he could come to him. That he should.

He knocked, once, quietly.

There was no reply. But in a moment, the door opened.

L stood in the doorway, slouched over with his hands in his pockets. His hair stuck out at odd angles, but the moonlight through his window shone around it like a halo. “Light-kun. Is something-”

“Could I...” Light said it too loudly, but he couldn’t help it. He could feel his hands shaking from where he held them behind his back. This should  _ not _ be so hard. But it was all he could do to keep his voice from trembling. “Could I… sleep with you… tonight?”

In reply, L was quiet. Contemplative. He raised one hand to his face and pressed on his upper lip with his knuckle. Then, he nodded.

Light followed L back into his room. The bed was king-sized at least, with a four-poster frame and sheer curtains. They fluttered in the cool breeze from an open window.

“You were having trouble sleeping, I assume,” L said as he got into bed, crouching on his feet the same way he did on couches and chairs and everywhere else. His toes made quiet scritch-scritch noises on the sheets.

Light nodded. He climbed into L’s bed, laid there facing him. He shut his eyes. Just feeling L’s weight beside him on the mattress put him more at ease. “Hey…”

“Yes, Light-kun?” His voice was muffled.

Light looked up and chuckled. L had a lollipop stick hanging out of his mouth. “Do you ever sleep normally?”

L looked away, almost like he was embarrassed. “I don’t usually sleep.” He removed the lollipop and held it between two fingers.

Light could have guessed that. He’d almost never seen L sleep when they’d been handcuffed together, he just sat on the bed in that weird little squat and typed on his computer. But this was his house, which begged the question: “Then why have a bedroom?”

He turned briefly to set his candy on his end table. It clinked quietly onto a plate. “I sleep sometimes. And I should. I just… often can’t.”

Light reached over, brushed his fingers across L’s thigh. “Would you like to try?”

L looked over at him, eyes shifting like they did when he was interpreting information or calculating probabilities. Eventually he nodded. 

Light watched him shift out of his usual squat. He looked so strange, sitting normally. Then he shifted the blankets around, crawled under them, and at last laid down, facing Light.

“This is how people are supposed to sleep, correct?”

Light chuckled. “Yes, it is. Did you forget?”

L shrugged. He stared at Light with those sunset-grey eyes, like he was searching for something.

Light stared back in return, not searching but admiring. He watched as L’s shoulders rose and fell with his breath, his short dark eyelashes shifted as he blinked, his thick black hair laid strewn across his pillow.

“I believe you have to close your eyes to sleep, Light-kun.”

“The same goes for you.”

Neither of them did.

L shifted in bed, slightly towards Light, lifting his arm into the space between them. His pale fingers curled into the tiny gap between their pillows.

Light suddenly became very aware of his heartbeat. Like its every beat was shaking his whole body, just a little bit. He wanted to reach out, to take L’s hand, but that was such a presumptuous thing to do. He didn’t want L thinking that he… that he… 

L drew in a small gasp as Light’s fingers closed around his own, and his cheeks flushed enough to be seen even in the dim moonlight. But immediately, he squeezed Light’s hand back.

Light smiled at him. Tiredness had made his voice low and husky. “You look beautiful, Lawliet-kun.”

L’s breath stuttered. But it was true, absolutely true. His face was just like the sunset now, from the red flush across his cheeks to the bright warm grey of his eyes and the night-blackness of his messy hair. “You…” he ran his tongue across his lip, and frowned. “You’re a liar.” 

“I am. But that was the truth.” Light squeezed his hand again. If he were only to say one truth, it would be that one. He shut his eyes, finally, and left them that way. There was no static in his thoughts. Only the warm heat of L’s hand in his. 

“Thank you,” L whispered.

Light whispered back even more quietly. “Goodnight, Lawliet-kun.”

There was no reply from L, only his soft and steady breath. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's a little drawing of L in bed (from Light's POV).](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/9424b5_25d62fede31942588c627fe5793fd25b~mv2.jpg)


	11. Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a time I thought about dying,  
> because my shoelaces had come undone.  
> I was never very good at retying them,  
> like I am with the ties between people.
> 
> There was a time I thought about dying,  
> because everyone said I didn't have a heart.  
> And whenever someone cries longing for another's love,  
> it's because they accidentally learned what the real thing feels like.
> 
> There was a time I thought about dying,  
> because you just had to have such a pretty smile.  
> And whenever someone can’t help but think about dying,  
> I’m sure it’s because we’re all trying a little too hard.
> 
> \- Amazarashi (translated by Nyangoro): “The Reason I Wanted to Die”

Light awoke late in the morning from a dreamless sleep. He realized that him and L had both shifted in the night, so that L’s arm was around his waist, chest against his back. From the rate of his breathing, Light figured L was still asleep.

He was… very comfortable like this. Despite the hunger twinging in his gut, he didn’t want to get up. He decided he wouldn’t disturb L until he woke on his own.

Light stared out the window. The sun dappled the leaves of magnolia trees outside, casting them in a golden glow. The shadows of their branches danced on the grass as the wind blew. Further beyond, hills and mountains peaked and rolled, and just on the edge of visibility, the white cap of Mount Fuji stood like the only cloud in the azure sky.

Of all possible places to be trapped for the rest of his life, this was the best Light could have asked for. Besides himself and L, there was probably not another person for kilometers in any direction. It was lonely, but in a calm, peaceful way. He might not even mind staying here. But still, he wished…

“Lawliet-kun,” he whispered, “stay with me…”

Light startled at a quiet hum from behind him. L shifted from resting his forehead against Light’s back to resting his chin on his shoulder. 

“Good morning,” L mumbled.

Light let out the breath he’d been holding. L hadn’t heard him. “Good morning, Lawliet-kun. Did you sleep well?”

“I…” he seemed confused. “Yes... yes, I did.”

“Not used to telling the truth when you say that, are you,” Light turned his head slightly, but he couldn’t see L’s face. Pity, he would like to.

“That’s right,” he said. “Although at this point, most people I know have stopped asking.” L extracted himself from Light’s embrace slowly. “I take it you slept well?”

Light sat up, and looked over his shoulder to see that L was already standing. “I did. I’ve been awake for a while already-” he was interrupted by a growling in his stomach. “And I suppose I should eat.”

“What would you like?”

Light pushed off the covers and stood slowly, bracing himself against the bedpost. He saw stars again, but didn’t black out. “How about pancakes?”

L chuckled. “You’re on a trend of foreign foods lately, Light-kun. We can make pancakes. Are you up to helping?”

Light paused, but nodded. He had more energy this morning. Probably because he actually ate yesterday, and got a good night’s sleep. And besides, he wanted to start helping L. 

They made their way down the stairs to the kitchen together, almost pressed to each others’ sides. When they walked in, Light had already pulled up a recipe. 

L went through the cabinets, finding a pan and a bowl of appropriate sizes, as Light got out the ingredients. Flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, milk, eggs, and vegetable oil. 

Besides the lightly-stained bandages on Light’s forearms, this could be a scene from a Ghibli movie.

L just took some measuring spoons and began pouring ingredients into the mixing bowl. “Light-kun, please preheat the oven to 100. I’ll begin mixing the batter.”

Light nodded. “Is there anything else I can do?”

L rolled up his sleeves. Why did he look so good like that? “Get me a whisk.”

Light looked around and found a black ceramic jar filled with miscellaneous cooking utensils: spatulas, serving chopsticks, candy thermometers. There was a whisk in the back, and Light fished it out, handing it to L.

“Anything else?” 

L whisked the batter with great vigor, not speaking for a few seconds. “Oil the skillet.” He pointed with the whisk, spraying small drops of batter across the counter.

Light checked the recipe to see exactly how it should be done. Then he fetched a paper towel from the roll by the sink and folded it, uncapped the bottle of vegetable oil. He pressed the towel over the top of the bottle and turned it upside-down for a few seconds. The oil soaked into the towel, dampening Light’s fingers, and he turned it back over. He went to the stovetop and spread the oil around the surface of the skillet until the overhead lights reflected in the liquid, then turned on the burner to a medium heat.

He looked back at L, who looked like he’d just finished mixing the batter. “Done,” he said, as both a statement and a question.

L nodded and proffered the bowl of batter. “I think we should transfer this into a large glass measuring cup to make it easier to pour,” he said.

Light nodded. “Sounds good. Would you get one, please?”

L ducked into a nearby cabinet and pulled one out, nearly the same size as the bowl they’d been using to mix, and he held it steady as Light poured the batter in. Then L turned around and poured out a little circle into the skillet.

As L monitored the bubbling proto-pancake with all the rapt attention he applied to poring over evidence, Light walked around to the pantry. He knew L would want as many sweet things as possible on his pancakes. He found a package of chocolate chips, a bag of powdered sugar and a bottle of maple syrup, then went to the fridge, where he picked out a box of strawberries.

“Those are, uh, for me?” L looked over at the pile of sweets on the table. 

Light nodded. “I know your eating habits very well by now. We did spend several months handcuffed together.”

L rubbed at his right wrist, as though they had just been taken off. “I remember.” He picked up the skillet and shook it back and forth until the pancake moved with it, then flipped it in the air.

An impressed grin spread across Light’s face. “I didn’t realize you were such a good cook, Lawliet-kun. Last night’s meal was delicious, and now this.”

“I help Watari sometimes, when I’m thinking. Making meringue in particular is very conducive to mental productivity.”

“Let’s make a lemon meringue pie sometime soon, then.” He looked around: they would need a baking sheet to keep the pancakes on while they stayed warm in the oven. “Where do you keep your baking sheets?”

Evidently, in a cabinet right next to the oven. L stepped aside, opened it, and fetched one, setting it on the countertop. “Right here.” He stood, watching the pancake sizzling on the griddle, and began to pick at his bottom lip.

As L put that pancake onto the tray and poured more batter into the skillet, Light opened the oven and placed the tray inside.

And so it went with each of the fourteen pancakes they made. After he’d watched L do it so many times, Light tried flipping one of them. He succeeded, but it was nowhere near as effortless or graceful-looking. L smiled approvingly at him anyways.

And when they’d finished they stacked four pancakes on each of their plates, drizzled them both with syrup, and put a heap of sugary things atop L’s stack. The remaining pancakes went into a container and then the fridge, and they took their obnoxiously sweet meals to the dining room.

“Hey,” Light said, shifting his elbow not quite enough to make contact with L’s arm. 

“Mm?” L hummed, mouth full of pancakes and fruit.

Light looked over at him, then stared down at his plate. “I wanted… to ask you something.”

L waited for Light to keep speaking, but when he didn’t, he said “Okay?”

“I’ve wanted to ask you this whole time. Why… why are you so nice to me?” 

A drop of syrup lingering at the edge of L’s stack of pancakes fell, rolling down the side and onto the plate.

“I mean…” Light went on, “the world wants me dead. The police  _ really  _ want me dead. Ryuk was going to kill me with his Death Note. I was going to kill myself. You saved me… four times. I don’t even know how you did most of those, although I have a few ideas... But more than that, I don’t know  _ why _ . Why, L? Why save Kira?”

L’s lips pulled aside. He could tell him  _ how _ quite easily. In order, to sum it up: a lie, a question, a bribe, and a doctor. But  _ why _ was a more complex issue. His toes fiddled against the edge of his chair. “I always knew… that you and I were very alike. From before I even met you. I realized it as soon as I noticed the trend of the world’s major criminals all dying of sudden heart attacks.

“If I had been in your position, and thought of the world as you did, I would have done the exact same thing. Because the two of us don't do things halfway. We do things excellently or not at all."

He took another strawberry from his plate and ate it. "Mm, for example. I speak only two languages, although I’ve had the opportunity to learn more. But, I speak them fluently. I’ve only ever played one sport, but I'm very good at it. And I've had the same career since I was twelve years old, at which I am the best in the world.

"People like us have to be careful what we choose to do, Light-kun. Because whatever pursuit it is will gain the full force of our intellect, and, more importantly, our willpower. I’m glad that I became a detective, and a Death Note never came to me. But I suppose, to answer your question: I’m _ so nice to you _ , as you said, because I know that, in another life, I could have been you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's the scene of L and Light making pancakes together ^u^](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/9424b5_95972378f3674a33a8d31e07c146551e~mv2.jpg)


	12. Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was just guessing at numbers and figures,  
> pulling the puzzles apart.  
> Questions of science, science and progress,  
> do not speak as loud as my heart.
> 
> \- Coldplay: “The Scientist”

r/conspKIRAcies

Post title: I’ve proved that Kira was alive when he left his cell

Date: August 14, 2007

Posted by: /u/dawnofthefinalday

Cautiousobserver2222 inspired me to do this. I wanted to know: was Kira alive when he was taken out of his cell?

[image]

[image]

These are the two pictures of Kira’s cell, in the order they were taken: first with Kira laying in it, second after he was removed. I did a zoom and enhance on those blood puddles on the floor in the second photo and I noticed there were some obvious streaks where Kira’s fingers dragged through it as whoever it was lifted him up. You can also see a few blood drops trailing across the floor close to the edge of the photo. If you look real close, there’s also a few little smears on the floor.

Here are the close-ups:

[image]

[image]

[image]

In order to find out what happened, I decided to simulate it. My brother and I went to an abandoned warehouse with a concrete floor and walls. We brought some fake blood.

My brother played the part of Kira, laying against the wall in the same way from the photo, and I recreated the rest of the photo as best I could, though I left out the writing on the wall because it didn’t seem relevant. (His face has been blacked out for both of our privacy.)

[image]

The first thing I did was tell him to lay limp and do his best impression of a corpse. I picked him up, threw him over my shoulder (harder than it sounds, bodies are heavy), and carried him a few feet like that. Here’s the photo from afterward.

[image]

Note the two separate trails of “blood” drops on the ground. They’re like that because both of his arms were behind my back. But there’s more. Here’s a close-up on the pools on the ground near the wall.

[image]

See how his fingers dragged through the puddles really fast, leaving these streaks? Lifting someone from the ground when they aren’t helping you requires you use a lot of your body weight and momentum, which means it’s a kind of violent motion. Even if you aren’t in a hurry.

After we’d gotten those pictures, we cleaned off his arms, went a bit further down the wall, and tried it again. Same setup. But this time, I told him to help me just a bit. Like somebody would if they were drifting in and out of consciousness. I lifted him up with his help that time, slung his arm over my shoulder, and we walked away together. 

Here are the photos from afterward:

[image]

[image]

And for reference, here’s the image from after Kira was taken from his cell that the police provided.

[image]

Do you see the similarity??

There’s a single trail of drops on the floor. The way that the puddles near the wall were disturbed is  _ really _ similar, especially given the different location and the fake blood I used. I even ended up getting the heel of one of my shoes in one of the puddles, which created very similar streaks on the ground to the ones from the original photo. 

From this experiment I can say with a very high confidence that Kira was alive, at least when he left his cell. I can’t say anything else after that for certain, but. The police report implied very heavily that Kira died in his cell. If I can catch them in  _ this  _ lie, maybe we can unravel the whole thing.

Post comment by /u/notableidiot: Literally everyone on this sub has way too much time on their hands.

Post comment by /u/downanddownunderwego: Ooh, the plot thickens! Who do you guys think took him out of his cell? Was it… L??? 0w0

Post reply by /u/dawnofthefinalday: I don’t see any reason he would have done it himself instead of getting someone else to do it. Unless, of course, /u/cautiousobserver2222 is correct.

r/conspKIRAcies

Post title: More evidence that Kira was alive when he left his cell

Date: August 17, 2007

Posted by: /u/hellfireandsunshine8

I was a bit surprised nobody had done this yet, especially given that /u/dawnofthefinalday’s experiment was much more complex. But I figured I’d give it a shot.

Basically I wanted to know how much blood exactly Kira lost in his cell. With that info and doing a bit of basic math I can figure out how much that was as a percentage. And then we’ll have some more evidence on the “did he die” question.

The average human has roughly 5 liters of blood. If you lose more than two-thirds of it (often more like half), you die. So, just to be safe, I bought 4 liters of a convincing substitute, then went out to an abandoned building to recreate the scene. About thirty people on here have already posted it, but here again is the photo released by the police:

[image]

And here’s my copy:

[image]

Including the writing on the wall, I only used a liter and a half. That’s only 30% of 5 liters. Well within the limits of what a human can survive, provided they get immediate medical attention. (And somebody  _ did _ show up to take Kira out of his cell.)

Post comment by /u/dawnofthefinalday: Lol, I realized after I’d already finished with my experiment that I should’ve measured how much fake blood I was using. Thanks for doing this!

Post comment by /u/cryptidhugger27: This isn’t even a conspiracy theory anymore, it’s just a fact. Kira survived his suicide attempt. Now we just have to figure out where L is hiding him.


	13. Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ll use you as a makeshift gauge,  
> of how much to give and how much to take.  
> I’ll use you as a warning sign,  
> that if you talk enough sense then you’ll lose your mind.
> 
> I found love where it wasn’t supposed to be:  
> right in front of me.  
> Talk some sense to me
> 
> \- Amber Run: “I Found”

The days moved along, the strange gradually becoming the routine. They would have breakfast, read books, chat about the parts of the Kira case that were not triggering to Light, chat about the parts of L’s previous cases that were not classified, have dinner, wash up, and go to sleep in L’s bed. 

Over time, the dark bags under L’s eyes that had characterized his appearance for so long began to disappear. Light thought he might be imagining it at first, but after five days it became clear he definitely wasn’t. And it wasn’t only that, either. L’s skin was regaining its color, still pale but no longer ashen, and even his movements were more energetic. 

But all that new energy had nowhere to go, and without enough to focus on, L was going stir-crazy. He would pace circles around the kitchen, flapping his hands furiously. He ended up overthinking the simplest of tasks, mind running in convoluted loops trying to optimize every little thing. He’d been eating ridiculous quantities of sugar, even for him, because he said it calmed him down. It didn’t seem to be working.

Light could tell that L was _bored_ , a word that now sent anxious shivers through him - for good reason. He knew better than anyone that there is nothing in this world more dangerous than a bored person with power; the power of a shinigami, or Kira, or the world’s greatest detective.

It all came to a head one day when Light looked out the dining room window to see L chucking kitchen knives at a tree.

He walked outside, approaching L from the side so he would know he was coming.

“Light-kun,” L acknowledged him, then chucked another knife. It landed in a place very close to several others. He set up to throw another.

“How do you get your cases?” Light asked.

L’s stare at the tree faltered, and he lowered the knife. “Watari has an email.”

“Have you been reading it?”

He dropped the knives into the grass and walked over to Light, tilting his head aside. “No. It hasn’t been a month yet.”

“But you already know everything about what happened with Kira,” Light said. “You could probably write a book about it by now.”

L seemed to consider and then disregard the idea of writing a book as a pastime.

“You should get a new case,” Light suggested. “Or at least look.”

“But you-”

“I’m doing okay, Lawliet-kun. I haven’t even thought about dying once in five days.” It felt sort of pathetic to say it aloud, but that was actually progress for him.

L reached over abruptly and took his hand. “It makes me very happy to hear that.” His voice was still the same monotone, but Light had gotten very good at reading L by this point. He knew L was proud of him.

“So…?” Light asked. _Will you get yourself a case? And stop putting holes in the tree?_

“I can’t. I need to take care of you.”

Light almost laughed, but he stopped himself. L’s stare was gravely serious. He glanced down at their clasped hands. “Then what will you do… in three months?”

“Huh?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“You said at the beginning that you wouldn’t take any new cases for three months, so you could stay here… but even if you did that, what happens when the three months are up?”

“I had estimated that starting on your recovery would most likely take three months, give or take. After that I would begin focusing on other matters.” L frowned, because the answer was extraordinarily obvious. And then he deduced a reason for Light’s dejection. “You think I would physically leave here.”

It was Light’s turn to be confused. “You were just going to… stay here… with me… forever?”

“Well, no. No human lives forever, Light-kun. For the rest of your life, though, yes.” He mumbled, “Or, technically, for the rest of mine, I suppose. Whichever comes first.” L wasn’t sure how all this wasn’t already obvious, though. He didn’t think he’d ever implied he would do anything else.

Light’s eyes glanced around; his lips trembled. He spoke only one word. “...why?”

“I already explained why I care about you.”

“Just because we’re similar?!” Light shouted. “That doesn’t come even _close_ to explaining why you would spend your entire life with me! Would you spend your whole life trying to save _anyone_? Because I can think of a billion people better-”

“I would.”

Light startled. It had been a rhetorical question. “You…”

“I _would_ spend my life trying to save anyone. But not at the expense of spending that same life trying to save _everyone_. And I’m already doing that. It’s my job.” He already knew what Light’s next question would be, so he answered that too. “But I thought that, if I was going to expend more effort than usual saving one person, it would be the one man I ever cared about enough to call him my friend.”

“That was a lie,” Light said. _It had to be. A tool to manipulate me. Right? If it wasn’t, I miscalculated horribly-_

“Of course it was,” L said. “At least, at first. But what was it you told me the other day? ‘When in doubt, tell the truth; it’s easier to remember what you said.’ Most of my lies contain at least a grain of truth. I realized gradually, that one contained… a bit more than a grain.” 

L walked away from his pile of knives, out into the sunlight, sitting on a patch of clover. He was sitting sort of normally, cross-legged, like a Zen monk. He patted the ground beside him. Light hesitated a moment, but came over to sit beside him, resting his head on L’s shoulder.

“I’m not as good an actor as you are, Light-kun.” His arm curled around Light’s back, fingers resting on his hip. “To compensate for that, I exaggerate my oddness, make strange and risky plans, and fail to explain my reasoning, so that no-one knows what to expect. That way, even if I tell the truth, or show my real feelings, it seems like just another lie.”

Light nodded slowly, cheek rubbing against the soft cloth of L’s shirt. _Tell enough of the truth to appease honest folk, and use just enough deception to fool liars._ It was a good strategy. And, on another level… when L revealed his sleight-of-hand like this, told Light how the trick was performed, it made it impossible for him to use the trick on Light himself. A liar’s promise of openness and honesty. 

“That makes sense,” he said. “But in that case, I think you have the wrong definition of the word _friend_ .” Light looked up. “I think you’re confusing it with _lover_ , or maybe _soulmate_.”

“It’s difficult to tell,” L replied with a little smile. “I’ve only ever had one.”

Light lowered his head back to L’s shoulder, and turned slightly to rest his hand on L’s chest. L had just been incredibly genuine with him, and it was only right that he do the same in return. “You know…” he said, voice slow, “I wanted to sacrifice my life for the world before, too.”

L tipped his head aside inquisitively. The way his cheek came to rest on Light’s hair seemed almost an accident.

Light hadn’t told him this before: he’d known it would be too emotional. It still was. But he wanted to say it anyway. “When I first… got the Death Note. Right after I figured out it worked. I went down the list of the world’s worst criminals, especially those who’d escaped the regular judicial system… as fast as I possibly could. I thought that whenever the entity that owned the notebook showed up, he would claim my soul or something, and I would die immediately.”

With the hand that wasn’t resting on Light’s waist, L picked at his lower lip. “I had wondered why so many deaths were clustered in only five days…”

“When Ryuk showed up… I thought that was going to be my last day alive. I was wrong… maybe the world would be a better place... if I was right. But… but that’s… that’s… how Kira… how he…” it was becoming too hard to breathe, even with L there. The world was blurring in front of him. But he had to finish his sentence. “That’s how I became Kira, that-”

“-impulse to self-sacrifice,” L finished it for him as he was overcome with a fit of sobs.

_That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier, Light. We both have to be careful with what we decide to do._

* * *

Light calmed down, eventually, when his tears ran dry. L helped him up off the grass and held him as he swayed, to keep him from falling down again. Then they walked inside together, fingers laced between them.

Light took a glass from a cabinet and filled it with cool water, bringing it with him to the library. L was already sitting there, waiting for him. The quasi-normal posture was gone, replaced with his usual crouch. 

“I’ve been thinking about whether to take on new cases,” L mumbled. He’d folded his arms across his knees and rested his chin on top; his fingers were tapping lightly against his elbows. “But I don’t want to distract myself from you.”

“Does it really require so much energy to be around me?” 

“Yes, sometimes. I’m not a therapist, Light-kun, although I’ve read every piece of relevant psychological literature I can get my hands on. I’m missing the talent, the experience.” L sounded like he was angry with himself for not being amazing at something.

That should have been the sort of thing that sent Light's self-destructive thoughts into a spiral, the idea that he was being a burden. But instead he leaned on L’s shoulder and said, “I’m proud of you for trying, Lawliet-kun. It’s hard for the two of us to do things that don’t come naturally.”

“Thank you,” L said, with that particular bit of extra emphasis in his tone that said he was genuinely happy. “I sometimes worry I’ve been selfish to do this myself, instead of hiring a professional. It isn’t as though I’m lacking in money, for a salary or a bribe.”

Light glanced up in surprise. He’d never considered the idea that L might have insecurities, too. But of course he did. The two of them were so similar, it wouldn’t make sense otherwise. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” _Oh, the irony._

“It isn’t only about me, Light-kun. The material I’ve read is conflicting as to whether it’s useful for someone who has been through recent trauma to work. On the one hand, simply being cared for without having a chance to contribute can leave people feeling inadequate or unworthy. But on the other hand, too much responsibility too quickly after a trauma can incapacitate the person, making it much harder to heal.”

Light could see the dilemma. And while L had erred a bit too far on the side of protecting him, he worried that he would be unable to handle _any_ responsibility he was given at this point. Especially since his _days since last mental breakdown_ counter had just been reset to _0_. And the fact that Light couldn’t do anything under his own name, so any mistakes he made would be a threat to L’s perfect reputation, made the problem worse.

L noticed that Light was lost in his mind, and got lost in his own. _The fact that Light was Kira meant I overestimated his deductive abilities slightly, but he is still a brilliant detective. At the peak of his mental ability he’s just as capable as I am. The question is not “is he able to be L”, but “is he able to do that right now”. It seems to me that he’s trending in a better direction, but it might just be that he’s getting better at hiding his emotions: the world would look the same to me either way. The fact that I’m not inside his head makes it nearly impossible to deduce whether or not he is ready to take on a significant responsibility-_

“It seems we’re both thinking of this as a dichotomy,” Light broke the silence.

“Mm?”

“Either you take a case and let me help you, or you don’t take any cases at all. But there are other possibilities. You could take a case and not tell me about it. It isn’t like we’re unaccustomed to keeping secrets.”

L looked at him, but Light was staring at the white-painted bricks surrounding the fireplace, the knuckle of his index finger resting on his lower lip. 

“But if you don’t want to do that, you could always do the majority of the work yourself and get my input on things when I’m in a good mental space.” He started to smile. “Yeah, that would work... That way, you don’t need to make the decision only once, trying to predict how I’ll feel later on. You can make it differently every day depending on what’s happening. How does that sound, Lawliet-kun?” 

L was just staring at him, grinning, with a bright pink blush that spread all the way to his ears. He leaned over and kissed Light’s cheek.

Light scrambled to the opposite side of the couch. “Wh-what was _that_ for?!”

L looked away. “Missed you.”

Light just stared at him, leaning back against the couch arm. Confusion became realization. The version of himself that L was used to, before the past two weeks, had been brought onto the Kira Task Force for his impressive cognitive skill. Light had not been using that skill very much lately, except to try not to die. That's what L had missed: the Light who was calm, thorough, and smart.

Light had missed being that person, too. It was nice to be him again, if only for now.

Meanwhile, L pulled his phone from his pocket and pushed a speed-dial button, dangling the phone by his ear with his thumb and index finger. “Hello. I assume you’ve been collecting cases while I’ve been out?” A pause. “Yes, I’m starting again. I am aware this breaks my pattern.” A short laugh. “It has been easier since I don’t have to deduce everything myself.” Another, longer pause, accompanied by slow nodding. “Okay, thank you.”

Light relaxed and moved a bit back towards L. “Who was that?”

L closed his mobile and slid it back into his pocket. “Watari. He will be over tomorrow with some cases for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious about the strategies of deception that I've posited for L in this story, I highly recommend reading the book "48 Laws of Power" by Robert Greene. If you read through the laws, you'll see a great many of them match L perfectly.


	14. Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll be good, I'll be good  
> And I'll love the world like I should  
> I'll be good, I'll be good  
> For all of the times I never could
> 
> Grace is just weakness,  
> or so I've been told-  
> I've been cold, I've been merciless.  
> But the blood on my hands scares me to death;  
> maybe I'm waking up today.
> 
> \- James Young: “I’ll Be Good”

The heat of the fire lapped Light’s cheek as L’s fingers traced through his hair. L had finished rereading _Dune_ , and Light had asked if he could read it as well. The book was in English, but it was good practice; he hadn’t used the language very much in the past few months, and he didn’t want to lose it.

L’s phone chimed, and he set down the book he’d been reading - a manual for therapists working with PTSD sufferers - to read a text. “Watari has arrived,” he said. 

Light stuck out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout even as he set down his book and sat up. 

L went to the door, and Light got up to sit on the couch. When he returned, Watari walked behind him, wearing the same three-piece suit that he always did while working at Kira Task Force HQ, carrying a sleek black briefcase.

Light felt that he and L were both very underdressed.

As L sat down beside Light, Watari sat in a padded armchair that L never used. Light suddenly realized why: the chair was subtly fancier than everything else in the room, and it fit Watari’s appearance and posture perfectly. The man nodded to Light. “It’s good to see you again.”

Light had known on one level or another that Watari didn’t hate him. But it was still odd to see how incredibly unfazed he was, how little Light’s being Kira impacted the way he treated him. “Um, good to see you, too.”

“I trust that L has been taking good care of you?”

“Yes,” Light said, reaching over to take L’s hand. “He’s been excellent.”

Watari smiled warmly. “It makes me glad to hear that. And I notice that it isn’t only Light who looks much better than I last saw him.” He looked over at L. “Have you finally found a sleeping pill that works, L?”

“As it turned out, what I needed was not a pill but a person.” 

“I see. I’m glad you have found that person, then.” Watari picked up his briefcase, removed a laptop from it, and began clicking through files. “As per usual, I have collected a number of cases that various individuals and groups have requested the world’s three greatest detectives to look into. I have not filtered these on anything in particular, although I am able to do so if you would prefer.”

“Not for now,” L said, chewing on the side of his thumb. “I’ll let you know. Read the summaries please.”

Watari nodded. “A wealthy CEO paid for sex with a dominatrix, and now she is holding the photographs she took of their encounter as blackmail. He is willing to pay any sum for L to figure out her real name and arrest her, without the photographs getting out.”

“Sounds like it would require field work,” L said. “Skip it.”

“Would you like me to skip any of these that would require leaving here?” Watari suggested.

“Yes.”

Watari typed a few things, then nodded. “A woman, whose stepfather disapproves of her marrying, met a mysterious gentleman at a masquerade ball while said stepfather was away on business in France. The woman decided to marry the mysterious man immediately, and he agreed, but on the day of the wedding, the gentleman failed to show. She has attached several letters written by the mysterious man, and wants L to find him.”

“Email her back and tell her the mystery man is probably her stepfather trying to break her heart so she doesn’t marry anyone for a while,” L sighed.

Watari nodded. “I assume your policy has not changed?”

L nodded, then turned to Light and explained. “If I can solve a case in less than thirty seconds, I won’t accept money for it.”

Watari quickly typed out the email, then read the next summary. “A young man in China has written a frantic email to Deneuve, explaining that several of his family members have recently died in strange ‘accidents’ after receiving a certain package. The man received the same package himself today, and is afraid for his life.”

L’s eyebrows raised slightly. “What do you think, Light-kun?”

“What did the package contain, Watari-san?”

“One origami lotus flower, made of black paper.”

L nodded. “This could be interesting, Watari. Save that one.”

“Done. Are you set on that one, or should I provide others?”

“Let’s get three or four in total,” L said. “The black lotus case seems interesting, but not too complex.”

“Understood,” Watari replied. “The Federal Bureau of Investigation in the United States is requesting help from Eraldo Coil for a case of suspected bioterrorism. A number of people in the city of Los Angeles who have not met and have nothing in common have fallen seriously ill within the past week, and today the first has died.”

“I’d like to try that one,” Light said, raising his hand a bit as though in class. 

“Hey, that’s the most interesting one so far,” L huffed. “You don’t get to keep it all to yourself.”

“I’ll share,” Light grinned and squeezed L’s hand.

Watari’s moustache twitched like he was suppressing a laugh. “Would you two like me to continue?”

“We’ll take one more,” L said.

“Very well.” He cleared his throat. “The British National Crime Agency has requested L’s help in investigating a series of murders. Ten years ago, there was a string of perfect killings: the only thing in common between the victims was the peculiar knot used to bind their hands. Within the past two weeks, three new victims have been found dead, hands bound with the same knot.”

“A copycat,” L mumbled.

“The information about the knot was never released to the public,” Light said.

“Light is correct,” said Watari, sounding impressed. 

At L’s surprised glance, Light said, “The NCA wouldn’t have contacted the world’s greatest detective over a copycat murderer. This isn’t some random lady looking for her lost love.”

“Sensible. But the question then becomes,” L said, smirking, “why did he wait ten years?”

“Or _did_ he wait ten years?” Light added, smirking right back.

“He could have gone to another country, or started bothering to hide the bodies,” L nodded. “But why return, or stop, now?”

“I don’t know, L. Let’s find out.”

“It sounds like you two are set on the NCA case,” Watari said. “What about-”

“Email back the NCA and the FBI and that one guy with the origami problem,” L leapt from the couch and began to pace quick circles around the floor. “We can start on all three right away, special emphasis on the last one.”

Light and Watari both watched as he kept pacing, mumbling to himself. They looked at each other, then back at L, smiling fondly.

* * *

Light sat on the couch, arm behind L’s back. He was reading the FBI’s detailed report on the bioterrorism case as L typed rapidly on the laptop he had balanced on his knees.

Light could tell it was a huge relief for L to be back on a case, or three. All the energy that had been misplaced for the past five days suddenly had a direction. And Light would be lying if he said he wasn’t having a good time himself. Having something to focus on that was outside of his own brain kept out the shame, the bad thoughts, the voices. 

Watari returned to the room, bringing them each a steaming cup of tea. Light accepted his cup with a cordial “thank you very much,” holding it under his lips to inhale the scents of orange zest and cloves. 

“Thanks,” L said distractedly as Watari presented him a cup. His fingers continued to clatter away. “Please set it down on the couch arm.”

Watari did as L asked, bowed, and returned to his chair.

In a few minutes, Light’s phone buzzed. He checked it: he’d received a text from Watari.

“At your convenience,” it read, “I have some things I would like to tell you. They are not bad, and I am not upset. They are also not urgent. If today is not a good time then I will be happy to return at a later date.”

Light looked over the FBI report. He could read the rest of it later. He set his laptop aside and said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Lawliet-kun.”

“Okay,” L replied, hands not stuttering on his keyboard until Light was turning to leave. Then he grabbed his hand. “Come back soon?”

“Of course,” Light said. His fingers dragged across L’s as he walked away. Neither of them really wanted to let go.

When Light was halfway up the stairs, he texted Watari back: “I’ll be on the upstairs balcony. At the end of the hall on the right.”

The balcony sat on the opposite side of the house from L’s bedroom, and took up the same amount of space. A thick corner post held up the roof, which blocked out the brightest of the sunlight above. Light walked out to the balcony’s edge and leaned against the white turned baluster railing as a warm breeze tousled his hair. He looked outward, saw the single road that led to the house winding to and fro before curving out of view behind the trees.

A small clink on the railing just beside him. Light turned to look and saw Watari standing at his side. _Wow, he’s quiet._

“You left your tea in the library,” Watari said. “I thought it helpful to bring it up.”

“Thank you very much,” Light replied, taking a sip. It had only just cooled down to a potable temperature. “So… Watari-san, um… what did you want to talk about?”

He sipped his own cup of tea silently, pinky finger lifted from the handle like an aristocrat, then set it back into its saucer. “Primarily, I wanted to speak with you about your recovery. L excels at many things, but consistently communicating with people who care about him is not one of them. He has not told me very much.”

“I’ve noticed him trying fairly hard lately,” Light said, “But I agree that it isn’t his strong suit.” He paused. He really didn’t know what to say about ‘his recovery’. Some days he felt good. Today in particular had been excellent. But he didn’t feel stable. It felt more like Kira had decided to leave him alone for now, rather than that Light had beaten him. And there was always a static in the back of his mind, droning onward, never out of perception. He knew, somehow, that if he focused on it for too long the thoughts would come back. The thoughts he didn’t want to think.

“I’m aware that it can be difficult to summarize your mental state,” Watari said when Light didn’t speak for a while. “Please take your time.”

“I… feel like I’m running away,” Light said. “From something. My thoughts. And I keep distracting myself to avoid thinking them. Spending time with Lawliet is a distraction, so is reading and eating. Sleeping works too, when it’s with him. But whenever I have a few minutes to myself… sitting on the porch without a book, or standing out on a balcony like this, or taking a shower… the voices come back. Kira comes back. It feels like my mind wants to kill me.” Light blinked at what he’d just said. He’d never said it like _that_ before, not even in his own head.

Watari was nodding silently. He took another sip of tea.

“I don’t know if that made any sense to you at all,” Light said, embarrassed at how much he’d just said.

Watari looked away from him, out across the forest, and didn’t quite answer. “How much has L told you about me, Light?”

“Well, not very much, but I’ve made some inferences…” Light looked outward as well, letting his mind spin along the comfortable lines of deduction. “You’re sort of a father to L, but he told me he never knew his parents. That implies you were his caretaker, but not only his - maybe you ran a foster home, or an orphanage. And I’ve seen how good you are with a sniper rifle, and I can assume you’re the one who taught L how to pilot a helicopter. So you were in the military. You speak Japanese fluently but your pitch-accent is a little bit off sometimes, which tells me that Watari is probably an alias and your real name is something English. So, I presume you spent several years in the British military before retiring and starting an orphanage, then taking in L and several other children. Am I right?” He punctuated his question with a sip of his tea.

“Quite perceptive,” he said, in English. “My real name is Quillsh Wammy, and the orphanage where L was raised is called Wammy’s House.” He glanced at Light. “You do speak English, correct?”

“I do,” Light replied. _Quillsh Wammy - the famous inventor? No wonder he uses an alias. Though nowadays, ‘Watari’ is about as well-recognized as ‘L’. He probably has another few aliases for other situations, then, just like L does._

“I brought up this matter to help you realize that I understand what you’re going through. Many of the children I took in had been through terrible things, Light. Mental and physical abuse, serious psychological illnesses, and, for most, their parents’ deaths. I have seen brilliant minds like yours destroyed by trauma. But I have also helped to save some.”

Light’s eyes were downcast. “None of those children were murderers.”

“You would be surprised how little the object of the guilt matters.” Quillsh sighed. “There was a child who we called A. He was twelve when his parents were murdered in a household robbery. The night before their deaths, A had an argument with them, and he stormed out of the room. His last words to his parents were _I hate you_.”

“Where… where is…” Light already knew the answer, even though he couldn’t bring himself to ask the question.

“A committed suicide at the age of fifteen.”

Light’s throat tightened painfully. He took a drink from his cup, but it didn’t help. 

“He was one I could not save. I recall that it was very hard on L… he was ten when A died. Perhaps he is trying to do good by A, in helping you.” Quillsh shook his head. “No, I should not speculate about L’s intentions. Every time I have done that in the past I have been wrong.”

 _You_ _are_ _wrong. Those aren’t Lawliet’s motives. Are they yours, Watari?_ But Light didn’t need the answer to that question right now, so he asked a different one. “So A wasn’t… like L?”

“He was brilliant. All the children I take in are brilliant. But L is… in his own category. It has been almost ten years since L left Wammy’s House and only recently have I found a child who might, someday, parallel his intellect.” Quillsh turned to Light in earnest now, and laid his hand on his shoulder. “But you, Light. Not only do you seem to meet him intellectually, but he actually enjoys your company. And you seem to enjoy his in turn.”

Light’s eyes widened slightly. Was he really the only one whose company L enjoyed? No, it wasn’t that… He recalled the many times that L had gotten into arguments with other members of the Task Force, when L had tested them one way or another. A lot of people seemed to not like L for reasons that Light had never completely understood. _Of course_ L had been testing everyone constantly, it was the Kira case! It wasn’t meant as a personal affront. But they didn’t see it that way. They stormed out on the kindest person they were ever likely to meet.

Even if L wanted to spend time with somebody else, there was almost nobody who tolerated his presence enough to hold up the other end of that relationship.

Except for Light.

“I know that L wants to help you himself, and I would not get in the way of that. But, in case it is helpful to know, I would tell you that L is not the only person who cares deeply about you. If, given my background, you decide that my help would ever be of use, please don’t hesitate to ask.” His hand slid off Light’s shoulder then, and he leaned against the railing, staring off into the distant sky.

“Thank you, Mr. Wammy. I’ll keep that in mind.” Light’s lips pulled aside. “I noticed that Lawliet has never gone to you for help, not even when he was clearly overwhelmed. Why is that?”

Quillsh smiled. “L has a bit of a blind spot related to other people. He doesn’t think anyone besides himself will be able to help him. And so part of loving L is doing things for him, even when he doesn’t ask for it; and part of it is also leaving him alone to do what he wishes. As I’m sure you’ve realized.”

Light felt the heat spread across his face as he laced his fingers together on the railing. He’d been more obvious than he’d thought, if even Quillsh could tell. “I have,” he said. “I hope that someday, I can convince him to ask for help.”

“If anybody can do that, it will be you.” Quillsh turned away from the ledge, and walked back inside. 

* * *

“Light-kun, you’re back,” L said the moment he returned to the room. “Come here, I believe I have an important insight into the black lotus case.”

Light returned to the couch and sat down next to him, scooting in close.

L had upwards of thirty tabs open in his browser, and he shifted between them, gesturing animatedly at his screen with a self-confident smile across his lips. “I believe our client’s family was killed by the Chinese Triads, their equivalent of the Yakuza. See this symbol-”

Light leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Yes?”

L stilled abruptly. His fingers touched his cheek and rested there as he looked at Light. “Did you just kiss me?”

He smiled. “Missed you.”

* * *

In the kitchen, Quillsh was washing their teacups, chuckling quietly to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A drawing of L and Light reading, from the beginning of this chapter.](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/9424b5_6fb389749a2245948740e008e7ec6f90~mv2.jpg)   
>  [Another drawing, Light talking to Watari over tea, from the end.](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/9424b5_d5d23a477baf44b3a85311e0086bac33~mv2.jpg)
> 
> \---
> 
> The cases from this chapter come from a combination of various Sherlock Holmes stories, by Arthur Conan Doyle; various episodes of the BBC TV series "Sherlock", and various episodes of the American crime drama "NUMB3RS". Needless to say I recommend all three.


	15. Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll pray that one day you see,  
> the only difference between life and dying  
> is one is trying, that's all we're gonna do.  
> So try to love me, and I'll try to save you.
> 
> \- Twenty One Pilots: “Lovely”

L was correct in his hunch about the Triads, and in another few hours he had solved the case and helped the man escape from China. L had asked the man for pay, but he’d turned right back around and used that money plus much more to charter the man a jet that would leave the same hour he arrived at the airport, and to pay the rest of his way into America. L had explained to Light that it was important people understand that his time was valuable, because that was a lot of what kept him in the position of “world’s best detective” in the eyes of the public. That was why he purportedly charged a lot of money for his services, under all his aliases. But, he’d gone on to explain, that didn’t get in the way of his ability to waive his fees whenever he felt like it. He got most of his real money from governments, anyway.

The next day, Light discussed his case with L. Light had written a program to analyze the dispersal pattern of the virus geographically, and found out two things: one, the disease’s point of origin was a large bus stop in downtown LA, and two, the people to the north of the station were getting much sicker, much faster, than those to the south. 

Light had called up the man heading up the FBI investigation late that evening, affecting his best American accent, and told them to check with the doctors of the quarantined victims, to see if the virus might have two different strains. When they came back with a yes, Light told them to interview the head researchers at the only two genetics labs that had access to the particular virus: the Spanish flu, as it turned out. 

L had helped him comb through the videos of the two lengthy interviews, and by the end they’d both reached the same conclusion on which man was guilty. Within a week of “Eraldo Coil” taking the case, the FBI had the guilty man in custody. In his confession, he explained that he had wanted to prove that his own lab’s strain of the flu virus was more deadly, and therefore, should be used in potential vaccines. Precisely the motivation that L had anticipated.

It took closer to a month for them to solve the NCA’s case, even working together. There was a lot of back-and-forth with the UK, which required many late nights and early mornings, and beyond that, they needed more data. 

And more data, in a case of a serial killer, required more deaths.

Still, they solved it eventually. The man they caught didn’t even have any motive, only an antisocial personality disorder. But the NCA got a confession out of him anyway, and put him away in prison for life.

Watari came by with new cases every time they finished the last ones, and Light was coming to see why L liked this so much. Every new case was a fascinating problem to solve, and the world had a seemingly infinite number to give them. It wasn’t even because the world was broken, necessarily. One of Light’s favorite cases was helping an old woman find her high school girlfriend, who she’d had to leave behind when she fled her home country. It had been remarkably difficult, but the photo the two women sent, showing them holding hands on a San Diego beach and waving to the camera, had made it all worthwhile.

Light wished he could have gone back and told his younger self, but it was good enough to realize it now: just because the world is full of problems doesn’t mean it’s always a terrible place to live.

* * *

The cold November air clouded in front of him as Light breathed into his cold hands. He and L had been beating their heads against the same tough case all day, feeling an inch away from a breakthrough but not quite getting there. Eventually, Light had suggested they go for a walk to clear their heads.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but the moment they’d stepped out the door they realized how unprepared they were for the onset of winter. They had done it anyway, because they were both very stubborn, but now that they were almost back to their house, they were also both freezing. Light could hear L’s teeth chattering, even though he was trying to hide it.

They collapsed through the front door and shrugged off their frigid coats and shoes. Light rubbed at his arms to try to warm himself back up; L rubbed his cheeks instead. 

“Well, that was an unpleasant outing,” L said bluntly.

“It’s your own fault for agreeing to it.” Light laughed. “Could you put a fire on, Lawliet-kun? I’ll make us some hot cocoa.”

L nodded, and turned off to the library. 

Light went to the kitchen, got out the milk and sugar and cocoa, and lit the stove while he searched for a pot. Finding one at the back of the cabinet, he set it onto the burner and poured two big mugs’ worth of milk into it. 

As Light waited for the milk to heat up, stirring it aimlessly, he stared out the window. The clouds were grey and heavy, and the air was stiff. It looked like it was about to snow.

It didn’t take long to heat the milk, and when it was done he poured in a small pile of cocoa powder and a larger pile of sugar, stirring them in slowly. 

He returned to the library with two mugs full of hot cocoa, L’s filled far over the brim with marshmallows and drizzled with chocolate syrup. But when he got there, he startled.

“Lawliet-kun, what is…” It was a silly question with an obvious answer. L had brought in a chess board.

L lifted his arms to accept his mug of cocoa. “I figured we should do something inside, to keep our minds off the case. Not competitively, of course. That would require too much thought, and besides. I’m actually not very good at chess.”

Light gasped in exaggerated surprise as he sat down at the small chess table’s opposite side. The carpet was warm from the heat of the fire. “You mean… L Lawliet is… _bad_ at something?” He let his expression relax back into an easy smile. “It’s okay, I’m not very good at chess either.”

“Do you just mean you aren’t the world champion?” L deadpanned.

“Do _you_?” Light raised his eyebrow.

L smiled, pulling his lip aside with the pad of his thumb. “Perhaps.”

They played, making moves quickly and without much thought, looking at each other as often as the board. Light played white, but L still won the game. He didn’t say anything when he won, though. Just spun the board around.

They played again. And again, and again. They drained their cups of cocoa slowly, over game after game. At some point they took each others’ hands, without thinking, like they played, and held them across the table. Switching back and forth. Black, white, black, white.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Light’s gaze snapped up at the same moment as L’s, as they both realized what they’d just said. 

The white queen in L’s hand fell to the table with a clatter. His gaze was shaking, pupils blown so wide his eyes were nearly black. And, shining in those beautiful eyes...

“L… are you…” Light’s voice came out quiet, like it was a secret. “...are you crying?”

L’s head shifted like he was fighting an impulse to refuse. His lips hung ajar for a long second as his fingers spasmed wildly against Light’s. Finally, “Do you really mean that?” His voice was steady even as his tears fell.

“Yes,” he said, nodding at the same time. He didn’t trust his broken voice to be heard.

“Even with everything I am?” The tears fell faster. 

Light’s eyes burned. _He_ should be the one saying that. L had never done anything wrong. He was just himself. It was the world that didn’t understand. _If you can say the same about me, yes. Unconditionally, yes. Of course. I’ll prove it to you._

He shifted around the table in a single quick motion until he was sitting right in front of L. With the hand that wasn’t still holding L’s trembling one, Light reached up to him. His thumb traced L’s cheek, the heat intense on his skin as he wiped away L’s tears. 

Light smiled, leaned in, and kissed him.

Immediately Light felt L’s hands around his back, in his hair, pulling him closer. L’s lips were rough and cracked, and he tasted like chocolate. His tears fell silently down his cheeks as they kissed, pouring from some endless well of sorrow that he’d kept forever away from everyone. Everyone except Light. Forever until now.

L clung to him desperately, like a shipwrecked sailor hanging on a piece of driftwood through a storm. Light held him in the same way. Even after they pulled away, dizzy and gasping for air, they held each other just as tightly.

Light pressed his cheek against L’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath. He’d never _meant_ a kiss like that before. It had always been a token gesture, a persuasive tool to get his way. And he’d never _wanted_ anyone like this, either. He shut his eyes, leaning his head against L’s, entirely unable to tell whether the rapid pulse he heard was L’s heartbeat or his own.

“Light-kun…” L said, in a low voice just shy of a whisper that sent a pleasant shiver down Light’s back. “That wasn’t… your first…”

He shook his head. “No.” Realizing his voice would cooperate, he added, “But it was the first one I ever meant.” He knew that L would understand him. He always did. Then his mind caught up to the question, and he realized why it had been asked. “Was that… yours?” 

L didn’t even hesitate. He nodded.

Light chuckled softly, bemused. “You must have been more of a shut-in than I realized.”

He shook his head, sighing. “It wasn’t for lack of trying, Light-kun. I did go on dates. But the few people who would talk to me always wanted to change something about me. ‘Don’t sit like that, we’re at a fancy restaurant.’ ‘You should wear clothes that flatter you more.’ ‘Come to this sensory-overload-inducing party with me.’” He hugged Light a bit tighter for a moment, as though to say _I’m glad you aren’t like that._ “And of course none of them could hold up the other end of an intelligent conversation.” 

“To be fair, Lawliet-kun,” Light said, grinning, “you have a fairly high bar for an intelligent conversation.” Just the previous day, they had gone off on a tangent and ended up talking about cybersecurity, with a level of depth appropriate for professional hackers at a programming conference, not two detectives chatting over dinner.

“The rest of the world has too low a bar,” L grumbled. 

Light held him closer now. _I’m glad you aren’t like that._ But as he did, he noticed that L’s hands still hadn’t steadied: his fingers tapped patterns of randomness onto Light’s back. Light pressed his lips gingerly to L’s shoulder and asked, “Lawliet-kun, are you doing okay?”

His head twitched up from Light’s shoulder for a moment. “Mm? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your hands normally fidget like that when you’re anxious or upset,” Light said.

L nodded slowly, then shook his head. “It’s a strong emotion thing. Not necessarily negative. I… I’m doing that because…” the tapping of his fingers sped up. He sighed, then laughed. “I’ve never felt so happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pair of drawings for this chapter:  
> [First](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/9424b5_a7f54574fbcf443aa5ce7e541fcf5712~mv2.jpg) / [Second](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/9424b5_4a12ede738a34e349508de5814f55996~mv2.jpg)


	16. Ball, Button, Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I was a man I thought it ended  
> when I knew love's perfect ache.  
> But my peace has always depended  
> on all the ashes in my wake.
> 
> \- Hozier: "Arsonist's Lullaby"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is based on an analogy for grief and trauma. The idea is this:
> 
> There is a ball inside a box with a button on one side. The button represents pain related to the grief or trauma; every time it's pressed, it hurts. At the beginning, right after the traumatic event, the ball is so big that it nearly fills the box, so as it moves around, it presses the button almost constantly. Over time, the ball gets smaller, so it hits the button less often. However, the ball never goes away, and as it keeps bopping around in the box, it will keep occasionally hitting the button. Less and less often, but occasionally, the grief and pain will still come back. This is not antithetical to healing: in fact, it is the clearest indication of it.

Ten days later, Light saw a face in the curtains.

His features were gaunt, his eyes hollow. Light recognized him immediately. Instantly put the name to the face. Kurou Otoharada. The first person he’d ever killed.

He startled when he saw it, jumping in bed and waking L in the process, but when L asked what was wrong, he didn’t know what to say. The face was gone, the curtain only fabric once more. “Nothing,” he said, dazed. “I just thought I saw something.”

“You were probably still dreaming,” L said.

Light almost believed him.

But the faces kept appearing. Squeezing themselves into anything just to stare at him. The leaves of trees out the window, the grain of the hardwood floor in the foyer, the shadows on the carpet in the dining room. He went to take out the kitchen trash and a fat-faced man peered curiously from the side of the bag.

It never took long for Light to realize they weren’t real. Only a few seconds at most. But it was uncomfortable. Staring at his laptop and researching a case, a woman’s eyes stared from his periphery. He turned to look, but found only a bunched-up blanket. It happened five more times in quick succession before, despite L’s confusion, he got up and folded it.

Still, it didn’t interfere too much with his work. For better or for worse, Light was very used to being constantly watched. Literally, during the various periods of time he’d spent under some form or another of direct surveillance. Bugs and wiretaps in his house, infrared cameras in his room, being handcuffed to L for several continuous months. And figuratively, because for much longer than that, every move he’d made had come under close scrutiny by an investigative team.

He carried on. Was there anything else to do?


	17. Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have an impression, in the back of my mind  
> That the black of my tie contains all your dirty thoughts  
> Make me an obsession, when you lock me inside  
> For the ride of your life, unleashed, gonna get it off
> 
> \- Set It Off: “Duality”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a double-post with the previous chapter ("Ball, Button, Box"), due to the short length of both chapters. If you haven't read that one, please read it first!

r/conspKIRAcies

Post title: How did L convince the police Kira was dead?

Date: October 30, 2007

Posted by: /u/cautiousobserver2222

This post is the summary of almost three months of research. It was way harder than I would have thought to get this info, but I finally finished it.

A buncha people have said this, and I agree: we know for a fact that Kira was alive when he left his cell. So, my next question became, why - and more importantly,  _ how _ \- did L lie to the police? Their official statement says that Kira died from blood loss when he committed suicide in his cell, and we know that’s wrong.

To find this information I did some extensive research into L’s previous cases. I knew it would be hard to try to profile a detective based on his work, but it seemed like it could be worthwhile. (Spoiler: it was.) I went through every piece of publicly-available information about his cases, however obscure.

After looking these over, I can give y’all some info on how L duped the police.

I think he didn’t.

I think he didn’t need to.

See, a whole buncha times in the past, L has asked for absolutely ridiculous amounts of money from the governments that’ve hired him. Way more than he could ever possibly spend - and I say that with full knowledge that the man built himself a fucking skyscraper. Not only that, he’s made some insane requests before, and every single time, no matter what country it is that he’s asking, he always gets what he wants. It makes sense, really. He is the best.

So, given that, if L had some personal motivation to take in Kira, I don’t think that he would even need to lie to the police about it. He lied to the world, but I think the police know the truth.

By the way, all this stuff about always getting his way and having access to absurd wealth only adds to my theory that L is a bored lonely genius waiting for the right person to come along. Just sayin’.

Post comment by /u/kirasbiggestfan: Wow, you spent forever on this didn’t you! It sounds right to me though. I happen to know somebody who met L, and this lines up really well with what they told me about him.

Post reply by /u/cautiousobserver2222: You know someone who met L??? Holy shit, I’m begging you to gimme details!

Post reply by /u/kirasbiggestfan: Ok, haha! I’m not sure what you want to know though. My friend only knew him for a little while. Her ex was working on the Kira case with L, and she went to the Task Force HQ in Tokyo a few times. She told me that L was kind of a weirdo. Like, the kind of person where it’s really hard to tell what they’re thinking. He didn’t seem overly lonely, but he was alone a lot. It seemed like my friend’s ex was the only one he was friendly with.

Post comment by /u/seekeroftruth40: I think L isn’t as good a person as I thought he was. If he can hide a murderer like Kira, for any reason at all, he’s just as bad.

Post reply by /u/notableidiot: I wouldn’t say “just as bad”. It’s not like L has personally killed anyone. There’s a difference.

Post reply by /u/seekeroftruth40: He’s keeping Kira from getting the lethal injection he deserves. So far as I’m concerned, that’s unforgivable. I don’t know about you, but this whole thing is personal for some of us. My brother committed petty thievery, and Kira murdered him. I can’t forgive him, and I can’t forgive anyone who helps him.


	18. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it's dark in the cold December,  
> but I've got you to keep me warm.  
> If you're broken, I'll mend you,  
> and keep you sheltered from the storm that's raging on.
> 
> I'll bring you up when you're getting down  
> and out of all these things I've done,  
> I think I love you better now.
> 
> \- Ed Sheeran: “Lego House”

L woke groggily to the sound of his mobile going off on his bedside table. He checked the number, and the time: somebody from America was calling at 5am. Well, probably closer to 3pm their time.

“Hello?” he asked, “Who’s this?”

“Michael Williams, with the FBI. May I speak to L?”

_ FBI. That’s Light’s case. _ “I’m not sure if he’s around. I can check, if you’ll give me a minute.”

“Thank you.” 

He covered the phone and reached across their bed, shaking Light awake. “Light-kun, Michael Williams from the FBI is on the phone.”

Light groaned and sat up, running his fingers through his hair. He reached out for the phone.

“This is L.”

“It’s good to hear from you,” Michael said. “I wanted to let you know that we’ve gathered the names you asked for and sent them to your email: have you had the chance to look at them?”

No, he hadn’t. He’d been sleeping. “I’ve been working on another case,” Light said, affecting just the right tone of confident annoyance. “And I’m away from the office, so I don’t have my computer right now.” Technically, it was downstairs in the library, but he didn’t want to go all the way there and fetch it at 5 in the morning.

“I have the file right in front of me now,” Michael said. “There aren’t very many suspects in common from the previous crimes. I can give you their names and associations right now, if you have something to write with.”

Light was a bit annoyed at the insistence to do this right now, but he couldn’t say it was uncalled for. There had been a series of robberies copying perfect crimes from twenty years ago, and according to L’s hypothesis (and Light’s algorithm), the next robbery they would try to copy had killed twenty people. Light stood, scanned the room. There was a small notepad sitting on L’s dresser, with a pen beside it. “I do. One moment.”

He walked over to the dresser, and picked up the pen.

Terror shocked through his veins like a gun had been jammed in his face. He stumbled back. Pen and phone fell to the ground with two quiet thuds; the phone clicked shut. His face was burning hot, skin soaking with sweat, lungs on fire. He clutched at his chest as he fell to the floor, gasping for breath. The spinning room and his shaking limbs slammed his body against the wall.

Ink like blackened blood. Rows and columns and pages of names. Lives cut short by his hand. By his pen.  _ His pen. _

He could see the page so clearly, like it was right in front of him. The names were shifting. From everyone he had killed to everyone he had ever thought about killing. Misa’s name came first. Then his father, mother, sister. The police. The members of the task force. L.

_ No, no, no, _ “no, no, no, no…”

“Light.”

He looked up. L was kneeling in front of him. 

“You’re okay,” he said. His voice was calm and steady. “You aren’t in danger. You won’t hurt anyone. Everyone is safe.”

Light couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything except sit there, shaking.

L kept talking. “You can get through this. You’re strong, Light. And you’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met. I believe in you.” 

Light’s vision blurred as he focused myopically on trying to steady his breathing. Quieting the spasming in his chest to pull the air in steadily. It started to work. The terror was receding into the back of his mind, his rapid heartbeat starting to slow. 

When he was finally calm enough to breathe, L asked him, “Is there anything I can do for you right now?”

“May I…” he started to ask.  _ Stupid. Selfish. You don’t deserve it. _ His voice stalled and he shook his head.

“You can ask for help,” L said. His voice was level as he stared at Light. “What do you need?”

Light was about to shake his head again.  _ Nothing. There’s nothing I need. I don’t want your help. Not enough to bother you. _ But then he looked down at L’s hands where he pressed them against his lap. Despite his best efforts, they were shaking.

“Please.” 

L wanted to help so badly. He was desperate to do something for him, to… _ To be of use _ . Light bit his lip and lifted his arms slowly from his sides.”May I have… a hug?”

There was relief in L’s eyes as he nodded. He slowly moved closer to Light and pulled him into his arms, gently, like he was afraid to break him.

“Lawliet-kun…” Light began.

“Thank you.” L said. He’d meant it as its own thought, but it finished Light’s sentence just as well.

* * *

L got up after a few minutes and called the FBI agent back: “My apologies, sir, but L received urgent news regarding another case. The welfare of the entire population of Shanghai depends on his attending to it immediately. He will get back in touch with you very soon.”

There was some flustered sputtering on the other end of the phone, and L hung up. 

Light smiled up at him weakly. “You’re an excellent liar, Lawliet-kun.”

L rubbed the back of his neck. “I have a lot of practice. There are acceptable and unacceptable crises for a detective to have, and when I have an unacceptable crisis, I lie about it.”

Light nodded, then gathered his strength and stood, bracing himself on the wall. He looked out the window: still dark outside. “I think I will go look at that case now, though,” he said. 

“You don’t want to go back to sleep, Light-kun?” L tilted his head. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I don’t think I can. And if I’m going to be awake anyway I might as well get work done.” His steps dragged him to the door. “You can go back to sleep if you want.”

L shook his head and followed him down the hall. “I don’t think I can, either.”

* * *

Light collapsed onto the couch and fetched his laptop, squinting at the screen and jamming the button to lower the brightness until it was bearable. He looked at the email Michael Williams had sent. He was right; the list wasn’t very long, but that was good for Light. Keeping a lot of names and faces in his head was not going to be possible right now.

_ Okay, let’s see... _

No thought came after that. His mind just drifted into blankness. He stared vacantly at the document, and had been staring for ten minutes by the time L walked in, brandishing a cup of tea. “Here. I thought you could use some caffeine.”

“Thank you,” Light said, gaze dropping from the screen to his cup. The warm steam wafting off it smelled strongly of matcha. “You’re not having any?”

L shook his head. “Caffeine impairs my reasoning skills.” He climbed onto the couch next to Light and looked over at his screen. “These are the connections between the previous crimes?”

“Mhm.” Light nodded. 

L reached over to the trackpad and scrolled through the file himself, reading it quickly. “So there are two suspects from the old crimes whose sons served time for petty thievery together… and one of the original suspects had a wife who left him and was later arrested for assault…”

He went on like that, summarizing, then interpreting and extrapolating. Light just sat there, nodding at the appropriate times, absorbing nothing at all.

“So, these three men should be at the top of our suspect list. Do you agree, Light-kun?”

“Uh, yeah,” Light said. He sipped his tea. “Seems reasonable to me.”

L’s voice dropped and he stared at Light, frowning. “You weren’t listening to any of that.”

Light sighed. “I’m sorry.”

L’s hand flitted in his direction. “Drink your tea, you’ll feel better.” He reached out for Light’s computer with a  _ gimme _ motion, and Light handed it to him. There was a quick bout of clattering as he wrote and sent an email to the FBI.

Light just stared, not at anything in particular, as he tried to wake up. He blinked, slowly, and took a long drink from his cup. But he could feel every thought slipping away as soon as he got ahold of it. He groaned. “How did you ever live like this?”

“Hm?”

“You were constantly sleep-deprived for years. How did you do that? I can hardly manage a coherent… um… a coherent thought.” That pretty much proved his point.

“I got used to it,” L said. He handed Light’s computer back to him and leaned over the side of the couch to get his own. “Before just recently I don’t even remember being well-rested. I just accepted that fact and took the time to work instead.” He shrugged as he scrolled through a file for one of his own cases. 

Light looked back to his computer. He had several other, less urgent things to consider. He opened the files, and tried to focus on them. But after he’d drained his cup and exhausted his willpower, he collapsed against L. “I can’t do this. I can’t do anything.” 

“You don’t have to work now, Light-kun,” L said. He tipped down his laptop’s screen and set it on the arm of the couch. “Neither of us do. If you want to go back to bed-”

Light shook his head. “No. I won’t be able to sleep. But…” he reached up and scratched at his scalp. He could feel the sweat and oil under his nails. “I would like to take a shower.”

“Then do that.”

“I... don’t know if I have the energy.” His next breath came out in a huff. “And it isn’t like you can shower for me.”

L folded his arms across his knees quizzically. Eyebrows lowered, he said, “Maybe I can.” 

“Huh?” Light asked.  _ How on earth would he do that? _

He leapt off the couch, reaching his hand out to help Light up. 

Light let him do more of the work in picking him up than he should have. Good thing L was so strong, he didn’t have the slightest trouble lifting Light with very little assistance and only one arm. “What are you suggesting, Lawliet-kun?” He could sort of already tell, and his chest was starting to ache as his tired heart picked up its pace. 

“I’ll shower with you.” 

Light looked aside, about to tell him not to do that, when he spotted their reflection in the darkened window. Him and L, holding hands, in the library of L’s house. The sight was strangely beautiful. With a slow nod, he said, “Okay.” And he let go of one of L’s hands, leading him up the stairs by the other.

* * *

They walked into the bathroom, and Light shut the door behind them. 

“Do you prefer a certain temperature?” L asked, leaning over with one hand on the shower knob, turned away from Light.

“Not too warm,” he said, removing his shirt. A hot shower might feel nice, but it wouldn’t help his tiredness problem.

L nodded. The water hissed from the shower head and its splashes against the tub echoed through the room. Then he stood, turned around, and blinked.

Light tensed a little, involuntarily. He’d never been embarrassed to be shirtless in front of someone before, but this time he flushed. Maybe it was because L hadn’t taken any of his clothes off yet.

L didn’t comment on Light’s embarrassment, though. He didn’t seem to even notice. He just walked over and reached up to brush his warm fingers across Light’s bare stomach. “You know,” he said, looking up to meet Light’s eyes as his hand slid upward to rest on his chest, “I’m sure you’ve heard this a thousand times before, but you’re really very pretty.”

Light bit his lip. “Thank you.” 

The thing was, he was right. Light  _ had _ been told that, or some variant, thousands of times. What was it about L, that made this time different? He didn’t know. So instead he reached over to L, slipping his fingers under his shirt, pulling it up. “You should take your clothes off, too.”

“Oh,” he said. “Right.” And he lifted his arms slowly, so Light could take it off for him.

Light tossed his shirt aside, and his eyes traced the hard angles of L’s chest.  _ You’re pretty too, Lawliet. _ He thought the words, but didn’t say them.

They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other as the room began to cloud slightly with steam. And then L sunk to his knees on the tiles.

“Let me take these off for you,” L said, reaching for Light’s belt buckle. 

Light inhaled sharply, but fought the urge to move away. He just stared at the top of L’s head as he pulled off his pants, his underwear, his socks. His cheeks were so hot they felt almost cold, prickling with pins and needles.

When he’d finished, L stood, and removed the rest of his own clothes. “Come on,” he said, “we shouldn’t waste water.”

Light nodded and followed him into the shower, shutting the curtain.

He stood there, dazed and staring into space, until L laid a hand on his shoulder and pressed him gently backwards into the water. It wasn’t warm, and it wasn’t cold: just slightly cooler than his own body temperature. It started to ground him, in the real physical world instead of his own mental one. Not entirely, but it helped. 

He didn’t bother to tilt his head, and the water ran down his bangs and across his face, pouring off his chin.

L smiled at him. “Can I get under the water now, Light-kun?”

Light nodded and stepped aside. He watched as L relaxed into the water, hair weighed down as it was soaked through. His skin glistened in the overhead light as streams formed and shifted with every contour and movement of his body. Once he’d worked his fingers through his hair to detangle it, he took a dark blue bottle from the side of the tub and clicked open the cap.

“Turn around?” L asked, and Light obliged. 

He felt L’s hands in his hair, massaging the shampoo into his scalp and pulling his bangs back to work it all the way through. The fragrance saturated the air, smooth and crisp. This helped, too. It all did. The slight coolness of the water, the smell of L’s shampoo, the fact that L was there with him.

When he turned back around, he noticed L picking up the bottle again.

Light took it from him, squeezing a bit into his own hands and rubbing them together. He shifted his hand twice to the side, and L understood, turning around. Light traced loops and spirals against the back of his head, pulling the shampoo through L’s silky hair until it shone with small white bubbles.

They took turns rinsing each others’ hair, and then L took a bar of soap in his hands and rubbed it between them. He set it aside to drag his hands across Light’s body. As he did, his thin fingers pressed into Light’s muscles, easing the tension from them as he worked. 

When he’d finished, Light reached out for the bar himself.

“You don’t need to,” L told him, resting his hand on Light’s wrist. “I can do it myself.”

“I want to help you,” Light said. “I want you to know that I care about you.”

“Then tell me, Light-kun.”

He paused, feeling silly, but reiterated: “I care about you.” And that didn’t seem like nearly enough, so he continued. “You’re beautiful, not to mention brilliant... And you’re kind, even to people who aren’t kind to you... You’re so nice to me, all the time, and I want to help you the same way you always help me.” He let out a breath in a way that was half of a laugh and half of a sob. “But I can’t, can I? I’m too broken.” 

L didn’t speak at first, just pulled Light under the water and helped him to rinse off. And then, when he’d finished, he pulled Light into a gentle hug, and held his head against his shoulder. He ran his other hand over Light’s back as he said, “There is a reason that all measures of pain are subjective.”

Light might have understood him under ordinary circumstances, but right now his mind was blank. He shut his heavy eyelids and slumped against L as he asked a single-word question. “Explain?” 

“There is no way to compare someone’s pain to someone else’s. Individuals have different pain tolerances, different situations, different lives. The only thing anyone can do is figure out how much something hurts, subjectively, to that person, at that moment.” His fingers began to trace up Light’s back, threading through his hair. “I’m broken differently than you are. It could be argued that you’re worse than me - you are in more imminent danger - but it could also be argued that I’m worse than you. The way I’m broken is  _ permanent _ , Light-kun. At least you can be healed.”

There was despair in those words, just enough for Light to pick up on it. He didn’t say anything, but he began running his fingers up and down L’s spine. That seemed to help. It served a similar purpose for L as flapping his hands, in that it was a release for strong emotions, but this was something Light could do for him. 

“You say you want to help me. But you do. You don’t seem to realize the ways you do. It isn’t by helping me shower after I’ve had a panic attack, that’s true. But you know what I’m thinking and feeling despite the fact that I’m almost impossible to read. You learn what will make me happy despite the fact that those things are strange. You do things I can’t, like carefully persuading someone or writing eloquently.” There was a smile audible in his voice now. “See, you helped me just now.” He pressed Light carefully away from him, just enough to look in his eyes. “Will you let me do this myself?”

Light didn’t reply, but he stepped back and sat on the edge of the tub, watching L. 

When he was finished, L stepped out of the tub and quickly toweled himself off before he proffered a second towel for Light. “May I?”

Light nodded and kicked his legs over the side, still sitting on the edge but now facing L.

L stood beside him at first, patting at his hair, his shoulders, his arms, his torso, and then working his way down until he was kneeling on the tiles at Light’s feet.

The sun had risen while they’d been in the shower together, and its light streamed through the window onto L’s damp black hair, making the small beads of water clinging to its ends glitter like jewels. The golden sunlight glowed across his still-damp skin and reflected in the small puddles on the tiles.

“Are you... done?” Light asked when L finished drying him off and set the towel aside. His voice was oddly quiet. Almost pleading.

“I could give you a massage, if you’d like.” He looked up at Light, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I’m actually quite good at it.”

“I… I would like that.”

L nodded and lifted Light’s foot gently off the ground, cradling it between his hands. He pressed down on the ball, and Light grunted - more from surprise than pain. “You’ll get used to it,” L told him, and began working his fingers in small circles.

It had been a lot of pressure at first, but L was right: he did get used to it. When L finished rubbing the ball of his foot, he cupped one hand under his heel and dragged two fingers of the other up the inside of the arch, then back down again. Several times like this, up and down.

“Lawliet-kun,” Light said. 

“Yes, Light-kun?” He switched from the inside to the outside, pressing a bit harder now.

“You said just now that you’re broken permanently. I don’t think that’s true.”

L’s eyes narrowed, but his hands didn’t pause. Just moved down to rub at his heel.

“You aren’t broken because you’re autistic. The world is broken because it doesn’t understand you.”

L’s hands stopped moving. He raised his head, stared up at Light. A drop of water fell from his hair onto Light’s leg. 

L muttered an apology as he grabbed the towel, but Light leaned over and took it instead. He lifted it to L’s hair and gently dabbed the moisture from his bangs. 

When he set the towel aside again, L took a second to open his eyes. Then he stared up at Light for a while, with enough tension in his face that Light thought he might start crying. But he just set Light’s foot gently down and lifted the other, repeating his process.

“However this broken world has broken you, I want to help you mend,” Light continued, fingers pressed against the side of the tub as he smiled down at L. “You always tell me that I can ask you for help. But you can ask for help, too. You don’t have to do everything all by yourself.”

The rise and fall of L’s chest had sped up, although his fingers stayed slow and methodical. He opened his mouth a few times, but just closed it again each time, shaking his head. Light stared at him, concerned. It wasn’t like L to be at a loss for words.

Eventually, L finished his work, and set Light’s foot back down. Light watched his eyes tracing the lines between the tiles. Then, at last - his voice so quiet Light could hardly hear - he said, “I’m so in love with you. Please don’t ever leave me.”

Warmth flooded through Light. He climbed down off the side of the tub, a bit awkwardly for the residual weakness in his muscles, and came to kneel in front of L. He traced his thumb across L’s cheek as he said, “I’m in love with you, too.” He leaned in to kiss him, and murmured against his lips, “I promise I won’t leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Art of the massage scene from this chapter (tw for non-sexual nudity).](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/9424b5_f30a6d9491114a949783f6e42cff3b24~mv2.jpg)


	19. Psychosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's calling  
> voices talking  
> hold onto your hope,  
> it's falling.  
> Sudden silence.  
> No-one saw this.  
> Cry for help  
> and drown in blackness.  
> Can you keep a secret?  
> Try me.  
> Cowardice and fear's behind me.  
> Left it buried  
> broken, weightless  
> separated, loved and faithless.
> 
> \- SharaX: "Waterfall Death Dance"

Light did end up getting some work done that day, but it wasn’t very much, none of it was difficult, and L helped him a lot. Shortly after sunset, at about 5pm, he’d shut and set aside his laptop. “I’m going to bed early tonight,” he’d told L.

“Up in a few minutes,” L said distractedly, eyes darting across a file. 

Light trudged up the stairs, using both hands on the railing to pull himself up each stair, like he was scaling a wall. His chest sagged into a slouch as he walked down the hall to their bedroom, and he collapsed backwards into the bed.

His mind was trying to think, about his cases, about anything at all, but it couldn’t manage a cogent thought. Like the words were drowning, clawing to the surface of a mental ocean only to be thrown back under the water. 

And then Light started to hear footsteps.

He blinked up at the ceiling, straining to hear. The steps were quiet at first, almost inaudible. Maybe just his heartbeat in his ears. But then they came to the top of the stairs, came striding down the hallway, and Light knew he heard them. They didn’t sound anything like L’s footsteps. Those were quiet, quick, close-together; these were loud, almost too loud, and the strides were long and purposeful.

And suddenly Light was falling, him and the bed and the room and the world were all falling. His body jerked, but he hadn’t been sleeping, so he couldn’t wake up. The footsteps kept getting closer, almost at the door now. Had he closed it? It didn’t matter if he’d closed it. The person in the hall would get in anyway. No matter what he did.

Light turned his head to the door. But there was no door. A blinding light had taken its place, so bright it burned Light’s eyes. And from the light stepped a person. 

The man’s eyes were blazing red like fire, his features pale and gaunt like death. He wore a white suit that almost blended with the light behind him, even brighter and paler than his ghostly skin. And his hands to the elbows were covered with wet blood. 

“Kira,” Light tried to say, but his voice had been robbed from him. All he had left was the shade of the word, the movement of his tongue through the motions.

Kira was grinning, evilly, maniacally, and Light knew he wanted something from him. And he knew Kira was stronger than him. And he knew Kira could do anything he wanted to him.

“Sit up,” Kira said. Even his words were bright and burning like flames. He was close now, standing almost over top of Light. His grin hadn’t faltered as he’d spoken. 

“No,” Light said, shaking his head meekly against the pillow. He had to resist, he had to, Kira wanted to hurt him, wanted to kill him, wanted to kill L-

“Sit up,” Kira repeated. Over and over again. His words were not loud but they burned like pokers pressed to Light’s skin. 

Light’s face twisted in agony but he kept shaking his head.  _ No, no, no, I won’t do it, I won’t do what you want… _ Light gasped for breath; the world was narrowing down to only the two of them, Light and Kira, and everything else was suspended in whiteness. Reality was disappearing from under him.

His heart was beating so wildly he felt about to pass out, lungs spasming but not giving him any air. He needed to get out of this, needed to escape,  _ L please save me _ , he scrunched his eyes tightly shut and-

That was a terrible idea.

Kira growled furiously from the back of his throat and it ripped from his mouth in a shout. And he branded words onto Light’s closed eyelids, no not words,  _ names _ , the names of everyone Kira had killed, that Light had killed. Light had disobeyed him so he’d put the names where Light couldn’t avoid them. Mocking him with his guilt.

Light snapped his eyes open but the names were still there, burned onto his retinas by the horrible blinding light. His hands flew up to his face, trying to claw at his eyes, and he screamed.

Kira reached down and grabbed his wrists, slamming them into the headboard above him, holding them down. “Light,” he said, voice twisted with hate, “Light, Light, Light-”

And then he blinked, and it was L laying over him, frantically shouting his name.

His eyes were filled with concern and tears, their faces mere inches apart. L’s breath was coming almost as quickly as Light’s own.

“La…” He couldn’t get out the rest of his name. He took a breath and tried again. “Lawliet...kun.”

“Light,” L whispered. He released Light’s wrists from his grip and sat back as his tears fell.

Light shifted his arms down, muscles stuttering, until his hands held L’s against his chest. His panting breaths evened; the bedroom had returned around them. Kira and his terrible light were gone. 

The only thing still wrong with the world was that L was crying.

Light didn’t have strength to speak, so he lifted his arms instead, sliding his fingers around L’s shoulders and pulling slightly.  _ Will you hold me, please? _

L all but collapsed on top of him, the last of his sobs muffled into Light’s pillow as Light drew his arms around L’s back. 

* * *

There was no way to judge the passage of time. They lay there, holding each other, hands periodically shifting to trace abstractions on the other’s skin, before the lack of energy slowed them to a stop again.

After minutes or hours, L spoke. “Light-kun… would you be able to tell me now… what happened?”

Light took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of shampoo in L’s hair, steadying himself. “I don’t know… I can try.” Another breath, quick this time, like he was preparing to run a hundred-meter sprint. “I felt…” Brightness. Footsteps. Falling. Burning. “I… saw…” Death. Blood. Words. Names.

“Stop,” L said, noticing the quickening of his heartbeat. “I’m sorry. Don’t think about it.”

“No. No, you have to… you have to know…” Light caught his breath again, started running his fingers through the soft, warm hair at the nape of L’s neck. It helped. Knowing he was there. “I saw Kira,” Light said. “He was…” no, don’t try to describe things, just say what happened, “He wanted me to sit up. I didn’t know why, but… I said no. He kept saying it… but I knew he wanted to hurt me, and I was  _ terrified  _ of him…” Light gasped.

“What…”

“I was afraid of dying,” Light said, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Really afraid of it. Doesn’t that mean I want to be alive?”

L didn’t say anything, but he held him a little bit tighter.

“Kira wanted to hurt you, too, Lawliet-kun. I knew it. He wanted to hurt everyone. I had to resist him. But he…” Light shook his head. “He didn’t like that. So he… it was like he burned them into my eyelids… The names of everyone he’d killed. That I’d killed. I still remember… remember them all…”

“That… that sounds like a psychotic break,” L’s hands started shaking as he steadied his voice. “Do you think it was triggered by what happened today?”

“I… I’m not sure… I’ve been hearing Kira’s voice for a long time. Months. But… this is the first time I’ve seen him. I think it was the pen.” Light’s eyes widened. “Do you think he’ll go away if I never pick up a pen again?”

L’s hands trembled more as he shook his head. “I doubt it. I didn’t realize that you had been experiencing psychotic symptoms for so long.”

“I’m not sure what that word means, but… I’ve felt sort of… watched, since the beginning. Since… since I confessed.”

His entire body was trembling in Light’s arms by now. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t help you.”

“You could,” Light said immediately. “You did.” He held L against him with all his strength, though it wasn’t much and he could only do it for a few seconds. He knew the pressure would calm him. “But you said it yourself, Lawliet-kun. You aren’t a therapist. And you aren’t a doctor either.”

L stilled abruptly, sat up. His hands rested on Light’s shoulders. “But I can tell a doctor which antipsychotics to prescribe you. And I can bribe him enough to make sure he doesn’t tell anyone that you’re alive.”

Light’s smile fell. He stared up at L. “Is there…” he glanced aside, “another way?”

L paused, confused, but nodded. “Cognitive-behavioral therapy.”

“I would prefer that.” His gaze drifted back to L’s. “Thank you.”

L stared at him, unblinking. Light didn’t know whether he was about to hug him, or kiss him, or start crying again. But he just shifted to the side, climbing off of Light and out of their bed. He stood there, looking at him.

“Are you… coming to bed?” Light asked.

L nodded absently. He breathed out a sigh and turned around. “I’m going to get some sugar first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: [Check out this amazing fan art from @anastasialestina on Tumblr!!](https://anastasialestina.tumblr.com/post/637189155502325761/the-mans-eyes-were-blazing-red-like-fire-his)


	20. Reach Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's calling.  
> Voices talking.  
> Lost among the ice,  
> it's falling.  
> Then there's silence.  
> No one saw this.  
> Cry for help,  
> and drown in whiteness.  
> Can you keep a secret?  
> Try me.  
> Cowardice and fear's behind me.  
> Left it buried  
> under blankets.  
> And it haunts me, taints me, breaks me.
> 
> \- SharaX: "Snowdin Winter"
> 
> \---
> 
> But be real and just jump, you dense motherfucker / You’re worth more, Achilles  
> You will not be more than a rat in the gutter / So much more than a rat  
> You want my opinion, my opinion you’ve got / No one asked your opinion  
> You asked for my counsel, I gave you my thoughts / No one asked for your thoughts  
> Be done with this now / Be done with this now  
> And jump off the roof / And get off the roof  
> Can you hear me, Achilles? / Can you hear me, Achilles?  
> I’m talking to you / I’m talking to you
> 
> \- Gang of Youth: “Achilles, Come Down”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning:  
> This chapter contains a detailed description of self-harm by cutting. I'm putting this note here so that any of my readers who have struggled with self-harm in the past, or are currently struggling with it, can engage with this content on their own terms.

Light’s eyes snapped open, awoken by the silence. The room was dark, even the moonlight through the windows dim. He definitely hadn’t slept for eight hours, even though he had gone to bed earlier than usual after the… incident.. His eyes burned with exhaustion as he sat up in bed; the covers shifted and fell away.

His chest felt tight and heavy, his stomach painfully empty at his forfeited dinner. His neck ached tightly, and shifting his head or shoulders didn’t help the crick at all. He tried to check the time on his mobile, but the brightness and his headache blurred the screen so much that he couldn’t read it.

L’s side of the bed was empty, but the blankets were crumpled. He’d tried to sleep and failed.

Self-loathing swept through Light. It was definitely his fault for worrying L so much. His fault for still being sick. The static in his mind was growing loud at those thoughts. L had spent so much time and effort trying to help him, and for what? He felt worse now than he ever had before.

_You will never be rid of this._

He squeezed his eyes shut again, but it only made the burning worse; he curled into a ball and clutched his knees, but the static in his head only got louder. It was almost physically painful.

_Nothing will ever get better. You’ll be stuck like this forever._

“Stop it,” he said aloud, but it came out a quiet and pathetic whimper. He was scratching at his arms now, trying to drown out the voice with the pain, but it didn’t work. The scars had healed too much, and the skin only reddened slightly at the scrape of his nails.

He could go downstairs and get a knife. Not cut deeply enough to die, only enough to hurt. That would sate Kira. Then he would leave him alone.

Light stood and made his way to the entry, cracking open the doorway to stand in the threshold, listening intently for any sign of movement. He didn’t want L to find out what he was doing. He would never understand. 

The door opened silently as his feet on the carpet as he made his way carefully down the hall towards the staircase. The dim moonlight through the front door’s inset window guided Light’s steps as he rounded the corner and tiptoed into the kitchen.

The door to the library was closed. L almost never left it that way when he wasn’t there. Light kept his eyes trained on it, listening for any sign of movement as he rounded the kitchen island and made his way to the knife cabinet. He removed a paring knife. When he tilted it, light glinted off its rivets and exposed tang, but its cutting edge did not shine. He ran it across the pad of his index finger; the pain was instant and sharp. It quieted the static for a moment as the blood bubbled up, but it came back almost immediately. With a deeper cut, it would stay away.

Light made his way to the door that led out to the backyard and, glancing one last time at the library door, he pushed it open. The freezing air prickled his skin as it drifted across his arms; he stepped outside and the snow melted and stuck to his bare feet. Winter had wrapped the land in its thick white coat, and his breath, coming out in short puffs of clouded frost, drifted into the still night sky. The door’s latch clicked softly into place, and Light moved further away, his steps crunching softly in the silence. 

He lifted the blade. 

Cradling the handle in his steady fingers, he turned over his wrist and pressed, the edge almost soft against his warm flesh. One shallow horizontal cut, just below his palm. He shut his eyes for a moment, relaxing into the pain like easing into an onsen. Another cut across the first bracelet line. The blood seeped out slowly, almost reluctantly, steaming in the freezing air. 

When he ran out of space on his left arm, he turned to his right. His breathing was calm like the frozen surface of a river, camouflaging the torrent below: the stumble of his heartbeat and sharp freedom of the adrenalized rush. His blood dripped onto the snow, melting it, creating bullet-like holes and coloring the bottom of each one like hot red ink. _Plip-plip_ was the sound, like the ticking of a clock. There was no static anymore, no voices, no cold and no darkness. Only the pain. 

Staring at the cuts, Light realized they had started to form words. Not words in English or Japanese, or any human language, but the language he’d seen written on the cover of Rem’s death note. The language of the shinigami realm. It had to be written that way, in pain and death, with cuts on skin or ink on a Death Note. 

And the words said, _Kill me._

Light could feel his reality slipping, ebbing into nothingness like the night during a sunrise. Some part of him knew that this was insane, that he was insane, that he should stop. But he _couldn’t_ stop. He had to keep cutting. He had to keep writing. Someone would hear him. If only he wrote clearly enough. 

He ripped off his shirt, bloody wrists scraping across soft cotton, and tossed it in the snow. He stared into the sky. Something deep inside him was screaming in terror, but it didn’t stall his movements. In a daze, he turned the knife to his chest, and started to press the point in- but he stopped short. He couldn’t manage to push it in more than a millimeter. So instead he kept writing there, hoping someone would read it, and take pity on him.

_Please kill me now. Someone, please. I can’t seem to do it myself._

And then, in the middle of a cut, the knife stuttered in its motion. Blue and white, grey and black, it all came back to him, shining with the pale yellow of sunrise. The warmth of L’s gentle hands, now replaced by stabbing pain and cold. 

_What the hell am I doing?_

The reality of the situation crashed down on him all at once, and he staggered. He stared at the knife, his arms, his chest. All dripping with warm blood that fell down to stain the snow. Red against grey. Had nothing changed?

He knew what he should do. Go inside. Get help. Get L. 

_NO,_ Kira shouted loudly enough to be heard even over the din of pain, loudly enough to make Light clutch his free hand at his head.

He would do it, he would turn around and go inside and open the library door and-

_You will not. You will take that knife and lift it to your throat-_

He wouldn’t do that-

_-and you will lower your head to expose your carotid artery-_

He couldn’t do that-

_-and you will cut it open and bleed out here in the snow, and the world will be better off when you are gone._

_No._ Feeling his heartbeat pounding in every cut as the blood ran thick, he took a step, turned around. Back towards the house.

_You will do it._

_I will not._ He took another step.

_Lift up the knife._

And another. _I refuse._

_The world is better off without you._

Again, he would do it again. _L’s world wouldn’t be._

_You don’t know that._

One more time. Just one more time. He could do it. _Yes, I do._

Every step used more energy, spilled more blood, but carried him closer, until he came to the door. The blood had dribbled down onto his fingertips, smearing across the handle as he turned it. He took a single step into the kitchen as the door swung shut behind him, and he collapsed on the floor, face and limbs burning hot at the sudden change of temperature, the skin on the soles of his feet feeling far too tight and stabbing with thick spines of frostbite. The knife clattered on the tiles, spinning out of reach. “L!” he called out, voice breaking. “L…”

The door swung open, L starting to say “Light-kun, what’s-” before his voice, and the mug in his hand, slipped, and shattered across the floor.

He sprinted up the stairs, faster than Light had ever seen him move. Light blinked, his eyelids lingering closed with an aching tiredness; when he opened his eyes again, L was back and tearing open packages of gauze and bandages. His hands worked quickly without stuttering, but his shoulders were twitching.

Light watched, still half-consumed by unreality and trying not to drown under crashing waves of guilt. He’d done this to himself, and it hadn’t even _helped_. He felt so much worse than when he’d woken up. From the pain of the cuts and the frostbite and the shame. From L seeing him like this.

But even despite all that... there was a tiny flicker of something. Not quite hope, not quite determination. It was similar to the relentless optimism that had kept him going as Kira even when things seemed impossible, but it wasn’t exactly that. That was confidence in himself; this was confidence in someone else.

L loved him, for _some_ reason. Even if Light didn’t know what it was. Even if he didn’t have the slightest clue how someone so beautiful could look at _him_ and feel anything but disgust. He could tell it was true anyway. And so even if he didn’t agree - even if every other part of him screamed he was better off dead - he trusted L.

That’s what it was. Trust. That was what guided his next words. 

“I think…” Light said, with much more confidence in his voice than he thought he _had_ , pausing only to catch his unsteady breath, “I think you should… take me to a hospital.”

L’s hands tied a final knot, and fell to his sides. His head lowered, bangs hanging over his face and obscuring his eyes. His posture was almost the same as when Light had told him, yesterday, that he wasn’t broken. That Light was there for him. That he could ask for help. And the way he lifted his face again, the way he stared at Light like he was about to start crying...

L stared into Light’s eyes, and there was trust in them. Though his shoulders still trembled with the strain of hopeless desperation, he still mustered the strength to say, “Okay.”

* * *

When they arrived at the hospital, it was dark, cold, and very late. Light hadn’t lost too much blood, but he was still weak enough to be leaning on L for support as they walked through the empty parking lot. The large automatic revolving door stood still and unmoving, so they went in through a smaller side door instead.

“I’ll need to speak to the receptionist for a moment,” L said, walking Light over to a carpeted sitting-area and helping him into a small armchair. 

Light nodded, arm falling from L’s shoulder and into his lap.

L stayed at the receptionist’s desk for a while, gesturing back at Light several times. Whenever their eyes met, for however short a time, L’s gaze softened, like he was trying to reassure him. Eventually, L walked over and sat beside him. 

In glimpses from the corners of his eyes, Light looked at L. He looked so tired, like he was dangerously close to collapsing from his chair onto the thinly-carpeted waiting room floor. And he frowned, reticent, in the same way he had when he’d been forced to release Light and Misa from detainment. When he’d considered, for the first time in his life, that he might be wrong. When he was simultaneously terrified of the consequences if he was right.

It wasn’t long before he noticed Light looking at him, and then the tiredness was gone, replaced with his usual expression of dispassionate intrigue. “You’re looking at me,” he stated.

“You seemed upset.”

L’s shoulders sagged; he looked away. 

And Light knew exactly what was going on inside his head. That L was frustrated with himself for not being ‘good enough’, for ‘failing’. That he thought Light’s breakdown was his own fault. He didn’t seem to realize that it wasn’t anyone’s fault but Light’s, because it was his own stupidity that had gotten him into this mess. 

Light reached over and took L’s hand, holding it tightly. 

“Light-kun…”

“I’m going to be okay,” he said, staring unblinkingly into L’s eyes. “That’s why I’m here. They’ll help me. I’ll get better.” And he hoped he was right. With every last dreg of his energy. Because if this didn’t work, then nothing would. 

“I hope so,” L said, without much hope in his voice at all. “But I’m…” his voice lowered to nearly a whisper, like it was a secret. “I’m afraid. I don’t trust people besides myself to do a good job. And if even _I_ fail… I worry the problem isn’t fixable.”

Light didn’t have anything to say to him, didn’t have the energy to lie. So he just squeezed L’s hand a bit tighter, and waited with him for the inevitable.

* * *

A nurse showed up and ushered them into a small room. She demanded the contents of Light’s pockets, got only his mobile phone, and confiscated it. 

He must have done something with his face to make her think he was upset about it, because she said, “You won’t be needing it, Ryuzaki-san,” she said. “The hospital has a phone.”

 _That’s what he called me, then,_ Light thought. _It makes sense. I’ll certainly recognize that name. And after the Kira case, I doubt L will be using it anymore._

“I understand,” he said aloud. The words were entirely bereft of emotion.

“Come with me please, I’ll take you to your room.”

Light nodded, and squeezed L’s hand once more. 

But before he could go, L turned to the nurse. “Would you give us a moment alone, please?”

Light looked between the nurse and L, watching as she looked momentarily conflicted, then resigned, as L maintained his blank stare. _Well, what looks to other people like a blank stare._ To Light, it was desperate, pleading… but the nurse wouldn’t see any of that. Wouldn’t notice the slight tension in the corners of his eyes… couldn’t feel his hand trembling. When the nurse sighed and walked out, with a mumble of “one minute,” they turned back to each other.

The moment the door thudded shut, L threw his arms around Light. 

He startled a moment, but quickly relaxed into that warm embrace, resting his hands on L’s waist, leaning on his shoulder. Even despite the shuddering pulse beating in his ears, Light felt a little safer now, grounded by the familiar press of L’s body against his.

“I’m sorry,” L said, with a tremor in his voice. He pulled Light closer like the man was his lifeline. “But I needed to… hold you…” his words grew further apart as he heaved in stolen breaths, “one… one last time.”

Light knew L was implying _before you go_ , but he couldn’t help the feeling that this was a much more permanent goodbye. And so even though he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve any of it… he held L tightly, burying his face in the man’s neck and hiding from the harsh hospital lights behind the curtain of his bangs. He breathed in L’s scent, trying to commit it to memory for when all he would have was the stale hospital air. “It’s okay,” he said. It was all he knew how to say. It wasn’t enough.

“Don’t lie to me, Light,” L whimpered. He shuddered out a sigh. “It’s not okay, not now…” the pause drew out and grew thoughtful, like L was trying to remember something. “But…” his voice was a little stronger now, “it will be. _We_ will be.” He pulled away from Light’s embrace like it was taking all his strength just to leave, the way he had to. “Right?”

With his throat tight enough to render him speechless, Light simply nodded. 

The nurse reentered the room a moment later, and this time L was the one who squeezed Light’s hand with finality. And when she finally took Light away, their fingers dragged across each other as they let go.


	21. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Headed back home, boarding a plane;  
> like an old ghost, thought I heard your name,  
> and my heart stopped, skipped a beat for one second-  
> I turned around, but who was I kidding?
> 
> \- Tyler Ward: “What It’s Like to be Lonely”

L had tried to sleep, and failed dismally. The silence that Light had brought to his mind was gone, and his thoughts ran in circles around old cases, current cases, past conversations and future ones, things he didn’t do but should have done, and things he shouldn’t have done but did. He got out of bed after a few hours, tired of trying to sleep, and paced circles around the room.

A pervasive ache had settled in his chest ever since he’d taken Light to the hospital, an ache he both understood and didn’t. Why was it so hard to be alone, all of a sudden? He’d been alone all his life. It was as though, as soon as Light showed up, L had completely forgotten how to be isolated without being miserable.

He couldn’t even bury himself in work to keep from missing Light. The two of them were brilliant in perfectly complementary ways, and Light was so good at coming up with things L would never have thought of. Typically stuff to do with other people. L knew he had a bit of a blind spot there. And Light could easily finesse social situations in a way that took a ridiculous amount of effort for L. Not to mention, Light was an _incredible_ hacker.

It would be much harder to do his work now. What had been an easy, comfortable pace for the two of them together was going to be very difficult for L to do alone. And then he would have to cut down on the number of new cases he took on, because he had limits, and he knew where they were even though he wished they were higher.

L turned around again to look out the window, and noticed the sun was rising.

His mobile rang.

L picked up immediately and held it to his ear. “Watari,” he said. “What is it?”

“I have some information you will want to hear,” he said. “Over the past two days, I have received a truly staggering number of emails, all contacting other detectives trying to find L.”

L paused in his pacing, chewing on his thumb instead. “Why do they want to find him?”

“They believe that L is hiding Kira. The motives they attribute to him vary wildly, but the confidence in the assertion seems absolute.”

“People are most confident when they are wrong,” L recited, but his voice was quiet. They _weren’t_ wrong. “How many emails were there, if you had to estimate?”

“Around 100.”

100 people had sent emails. L began rocking back and forth on his feet. “I cannot possibly try and fail to find myself a hundred times, Watari. Are these individuals or governments?”

“I have not read each email. I can do so if you wish. But it seemed all of them were from individuals.”

Okay, that was good. A hundred random people and a hundred governments were very different sets of people to be hunting him. There only _were_ a little less than 200 countries in the world, and L wasn’t sure even _he,_ with all his resources and connections, could do battle with half the world and win. But 100 people with no power or influence, that was doable. Not necessarily easy, but doable.

Still, the fact that a hundred people had sent emails probably meant thousands, or tens of thousands, believed it, without acting on that belief. So many people knowing the truth about this was bad even if they didn’t want him to do anything about it. For the world to distrust the Japanese police was suboptimal; for them to distrust L would be worse. The worst possible outcome would occur if it somehow got out that L had hundreds of other aliases. That would be catastrophic.

Beyond the impact on the world as a whole, there was the personal impact on him and on Light. L wanted even less to think about that. These people could call for Light’s execution, and if they did, they would almost certainly get their wish. The police may have listened to L the first time, but that was under the strict condition that none of this get out. It already had.

The public might call for _L’s_ execution, too, for the crime of hiding Kira. It was less probable, but still a strong enough possibility to come under consideration. L had risked his life during the Kira investigation, and it seemed like the universe was unwilling to let him _stop_ , now.

He needed to discover what these people knew, and how they knew it. Then he could figure out how to dissuade them. (Somehow. Without Light’s charm and eloquence.) That was the only way to save his life, and Light’s, and those of the countless others who depended on them both. 

L stood on a thin, perilous watchtower, looking down across a vast crowd. Every face, staring up at him with blank expressions. He didn’t know what they might do. He had no way _to_ know. It’s so hard to hear the voices on the streets, from atop a throne or in the gallows. 

“L?” Watari’s voice came through the phone, bringing L back to the present moment.

“Read the emails just to be sure. Notify me of anything unusual that comes in. And…” he looked around at his empty bedroom, at Light’s side of their bed, untouched since last night. “Book me a flight. Make sure it leaves the day after tomorrow.” 

L knew he could solve all his and Light’s current cases in two days, so long as he got started the moment he hung up the phone and didn’t take any breaks whatsoever. He would need to avoid doing anything too mentally taxing for at least a week after that, but that was very possible. He would have other peoples’ brain power to work with, where he was going.

Watari, of course, didn’t need to be told where L was headed. “Understood, sir. Shall do. Is there anything else you need?”

L was about to say no, but Light’s words came to his mind. _You don’t have to do everything all by yourself._ And so he asked, “Would you come with me, Watari?”

He could hear Watari’s smile through the phone. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

* * *

After about eight hours of work, L decided to get a snack. It would have to be quick to keep his timetable, but he still wanted to do it himself.

When he opened the door between the library and the kitchen, he took one step, but stopped just short of the second, avoiding something that ought not to be there. The mug of hot cocoa he’d dropped the previous night was still shattered into jagged pieces amid a stain of sticky brown sludge that followed the grout lines on the floor.

L was confused at first, looking at it. Light always kept everything in their house impeccably neat and clean. He would never let a stain like this sit long enough to curdle. But then L’s eyes drifted further across the room. Closer to the glass door which led into the backyard, there was another stain. Near the door, it was dark; nearer to L, it was light. All of it was red.

L looked away, made his way to the pantry, and fetched a package of fruity candies. He tried not to think about the stains, and the memories they held, but every stain was loud, and refused to be ignored.

Sighing, and setting his candy aside, L fetched some paper towels and wetted them at the sink, getting to his knees and scrubbing at the stains. “It isn’t right, leaving such a beautiful house dirty like that,” he mumbled the words Light had said when L asked why he cared so much. 

Light’s next words had been _and besides, I enjoy cleaning for you, Lawliet. Won’t you let me do this for you?_ But L couldn’t bring himself to say that aloud.

* * *

The room they took Light to was all white the way his prison cell was all grey. In one corner, a bed sparsely better than the one from his cell, with a single thin sheet over a worn-looking mattress. Separated by a wall but not a door was a bathroom with a press-and-hold shower, a toilet missing its lid, and a plastic mirror that blurred and distorted everything it tried to reflect. 

He got in bed almost immediately when he arrived, but he didn’t get much sleep. Besides the voices and the faces and the screams coming through the walls, he was evidently on suicide watch, meaning that every fifteen minutes somebody came into his room and shined a flashlight on him. 

He woke early the next morning from something more closely approximating a nap than a real night’s sleep. There was a clatter on the floor by his door, and he noticed a bowl of porridge had been tossed through a slot. He was so hungry that he ate every bland, runny bite.

Fifteen minutes after that, his door opened and a doctor walked in. She had an A-line bob tugged back on both sides with hairpins, and a silver name tag pinned just below the collar of her medical coat that read “Dr. Saito”. 

“Ryuzaki Tsuki,” she said.

“Present, Saito-san,” he said, like she was taking attendance. He liked the first name that L had chosen for him - a direct reading of the kanji used to write his real name.

She didn’t smile, only looked over her clipboard. “I wanted to give you a short questionnaire to fill out, and then discuss your condition.”

“Um…” This felt very strange to say. “I can’t… pick up a pen.”

She glanced down at his hands, looked momentarily confused, but nodded anyway. “I’ll make the marks for you. Is looking at a pen okay?”

“I…” _I don’t know._ “I think so…”

“I’ll turn my back just in case.” Her voice was sympathetic only at a surface level: typical bedside manner. It actually relaxed Light a little. He didn’t have to worry about being fucked-up around people who didn’t care. She turned around for a moment and then handed him the clipboard, holding one hand behind her back as she stared at him.

At the top of the page, it read: “Please mark any adjectives that you feel describe you.” After that, a hilariously contradictory list that began: _attractive, suicidal, good sense of humor_.

He started out picking the positive ones, out of habit, since he’d been asked questions like these by professors and recruiters before. He picked out _hardworking, intelligent,_ and _ambitious_ without even thinking about them, and afterwards, embarrassed, also marked _confident_. 

It was more difficult than he’d thought to pick negative words. He first chose the words Kira had used, and the synonyms for them. _Worthless, crazy, unlovable_ . And then some obvious ones, like _full of regrets_ and _suicidal_ . But he got caught on a lot of them. _Inadequate? Incompetent? Naive? Stupid?_ There were arguments for and against each. After a moment, he realized he’d been coming at this like a standardized test that he’d somehow forgotten to study for, and just marked _In conflict._

There was one left, one that his eyes had been drawn to from the start. _Evil._

“If you’re wondering whether to mark something,” Dr. Saito said, after he’d been staring at the paper for a solid five minutes, “just mark it. Or, point to it, I suppose.”

He bit his lip, and pointed.

After that, there were a number of questions regarding his prior psychological history. Had he been diagnosed with any mental disorders, was he taking any medications, had he been admitted to a psychiatric hospital before. He said “no” to all of them.

A series of questions on alcohol or drug use were met with another string of “no, not applicable, never done any of that” answers. Light had never wanted to take leave of his senses. They would always just come back later, and then he would have to deal with whatever stupid things he’d done while intoxicated. If he was going to cease to be conscious, he wanted that state to be permanent.

The last thing on the questionnaire was a short bit on his employment history. The mention that he’d worked on the Kira case raised the doctor’s eyebrows, but she didn’t ask about it, just took the questionnaire back and wrote it down. 

Dr. Saito nodded and tucked the clipboard under her arm. “Thank you for that, Ryuzaki-san. I have only a few more questions.”

He nodded. It was hard to focus on so little sleep; his mind was foggy and slow. He hoped this would be over soon.

“Your intake sheet mentions PTSD, depression, and psychosis. You mentioned that you haven’t been formally diagnosed; did you diagnose yourself?”

He shook his head. “I have a friend who used to be a psychiatrist.” It wasn’t the best possible lie he could have come up with, but it would do. 

“I see. Is it possible for you to describe your hallucinations?”

 _I can tell you without freaking out, if that’s what you mean._ “I mostly just hear a voice. It sounds like my own does, inside my head, but it’s coming from somewhere else. Sometimes there are faces. Not real ones, but it looks like there are. I see them in fabric and wood and other things like that. And, only once...” he suppressed a shiver as he recalled Kira’s burning red eyes glaring down at him. “I saw the man, whose voice I hear.” 

“Understood. I believe that’s everything I’ll need for now.”

“Thank you for your time, Saito-san,” he said cordially. His brain had left its _charming young man_ program running in the background, and it took up so little processing power that it kept going even when everything else had shut down.

He ran on autopilot like that through the rest of the morning. After Dr. Saito left, a nurse had come in to change his bandages — he couldn’t help but compare her movements to L’s; hers may have been more practiced, but they were less careful, and much less warm. Immediately afterward, another ushered him to a larger room, where he’d sat in a circle with the various other new patients in the ward. In addition to his name, he’d been asked for his favorite flower. This was not a preference he had ever been expected to have, and it wasn’t as though Light made a habit of knowing the names of flowers. He’d said “lilies”, pretty much exclusively because the name started with L.

There had been lunch after that, which was barely more palatable than breakfast. Light had done his best to keep his eyes on his food while a woman jumped up from her table and threw her plate at a young man, who she claimed was having an affair with her husband. The staff swooped in immediately with a sedative, and she was carried away, unconscious.

After lunch came arts and crafts. Light avoided anything that involved holding a writing implement, which ruled out most things: drawing, coloring, painting. He’d ended up sitting in a corner and cutting out paper snowflakes with a boy who looked almost too young to be in the adult ward. (Not that Light wasn’t in the same boat, but he didn’t tend to think of himself in those sorts of… mortal terms. He was just _him_.)

Kira talked at him almost constantly through that time, but Light could no longer do anything with anything he was saying. The scissors were the dullish kind with the rounded ends that teachers give to little kids, the kind that are basically impossible to do anything else with besides cut paper. He even ran the blade over the pad of his finger once, but it didn’t even leave a mark. Having to hear Kira’s voice gradually shifted from terrifying to merely annoying.

Precisely one minute before the three-hour mark, the boy tapped Light on the shoulder. When Light turned to look at him, he smiled knowingly and said, “I know what you are.” 

Though his expression remained blank, Light started to panic. Did someone here know who he really was? How could that-

“You’re the white wizard.”

Light let out his breath with a muted _sure_ , and turned away. The minute hand ticked over, and the staff let him leave. One hour of free time before dinner, they said. Light asked to use the phone.

An orderly had accompanied him to the small room where the corded phone was, and while she left him alone inside, he could clearly see a camera in the corner. He wasn’t unwatched, or unheard, even as he punched in L’s number and waited.

He picked up on the fourth ring. “Light-kun?” He sounded surprised.

“Hi, Lawliet-kun,” he said. “Didn’t expect to hear from me so soon?”

“Yes,” he replied. “But I’m glad you called.” There was purpose behind those words.

“Did you have something to tell me?” He’d thought L would just contact him directly, if he had something to say. It wasn’t like he lacked the ability to circumnavigate the hospital’s standard procedures.

“Indeed. But I also missed your voice.”

Light smiled, and covered his lips with his fingers. They felt cold against his warm face. “I missed yours, too.” It still felt strange sometimes, to say things like that and mean them.

“Are you doing better today?” L asked, his words quick like he’d been waiting to say them. Like he’d been waiting for an answer.

“A little bit,” he said, which was sort of true. The fact that there was nothing he could possibly hurt himself with, besides his own hands, had genuinely put a damper on his self-destructive thoughts. And the suicide watch, although it made sleeping very hard, was effective in keeping him from killing himself, or even coming up with a plan. Even the dispassionate disinterest of the staff helped. He didn’t feel like he was letting anyone down if he was sick in a hospital, where the nurses were being paid to care for him. “Is that what you wanted to say?”

A sort of ruffling noise through the phone speakers was followed by “No. What I wanted to say was that I’ve found a therapist for you, who already works there. I had a talk with him and told him who you are.” The tone of his voice conveyed: _who you_ _really_ _are._ “You can see him today.”

L’s words were obstructed just a little bit in a way that implied he was pulling at his lip with his thumb, and Light imagined him crouching in the library, phone dangling between his fingers. If Light closed his eyes he could visualize the room: dark violet carpet, old white-painted bricks surrounding the fireplace, cherry wood bookshelves, maroon leather couch. Then he opened them again, and was back in this broom-closet of a phone room.

“I can, or I will?” he asked.

“It is your decision. The head doctor in your ward should know by now, so if you go to her, she should be able to arrange the appointment.”

“Okay. I will,” Light promised.

There was a pause.

“I wanted to tell you something else,” L said. 

After a moment of silence, Light prompted him. “What is it?”

“I will be… unreachable, for a few weeks.”

Light’s breath caught in his throat. _Why?_ L was his only respite from the horrors in his brain, from the feeling of unreality that saturated this place. Not only that, he was Light’s only remaining connection to the outside world. Light had planned on calling him at least every few days, if not more often. _Why are you doing this?_

“I’m flying back to England. I plan to stay for a month.”

Suddenly Light’s mind returned to his image of L, sitting in his house. He was alone there, for the first time in six months. Light recalled how lonely he’d felt at the mere _idea_ of staying there by himself if L left... and he understood. 

“It isn’t just that it’s lonely,” L said. In English. 

Light startled. He wasn’t expecting that, and he stood there blank-faced while his brain switched linguistic gears. In a second he asked, “What else, then?”

“It’s come to my attention that a disconcerting number of people believe Kira is not dead. That the police faked his death. Some of the evidence for these conjectures is obviously inconclusive, but some of it is… very insightful.”

Immediately, Light wanted to solve the problem, but the moment he began to consider it, he knew he couldn’t. The sleep deprivation, the physical exhaustion, the mental exhaustion… it had all taken a toll on him. He could hardly get his mind to work well enough to comprehend this conversation. So instead he just asked, “What is there in England that will help?”

“Wammy’s House,” L replied.

Light kicked his stupid brain. Of course. Quillsh had even mentioned he’d found a child whose intellect might match L’s. He could help L while Light was stuck here. “It seems like you have it under control, then.”

“Don’t say that,” L said, frowning audibly. “The last time someone said that, it ended with my lover in a psych ward.”

“Lawliet…” Light started to say, but a loud knock came at the door behind him, along with a voice announcing that he had one minute to wrap it up.

“You need to leave,” L said, speaking Japanese again.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“I know.” There was a smile in his words now. “But it isn’t forever.”

Light gripped the phone handle hard enough that he heard the plastic creak. “I’ll get better. I promise you I will. I’ll do anything I can to come back to you. I’ll fix my broken brain as fast as I can. I’ll-”

“Stay alive,” L said, his voice quiet. “Just... please stay alive.”

“But don’t you want-”

“All I want,” he said, “is for you to be around when I get back. I would consider that a great success.”

“It would be pretty hard for me not to be…” Light mumbled.

“People do die in hospitals like those, Light-kun.” L sighed. “Can you promise me?”

“...yes.” He nodded. “Yes, I promise. I’ll stay alive for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this chapter: [L alone at sunrise](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/9424b5_ef0ac0c27bfb4a069b0fa54e16352b63~mv2.jpg)
> 
> \---
> 
> The line, "He tried not to think about the stains, and the memories they held, but every stain was loud, and refused to be ignored" is referencing ["Oblivion" by Dogen.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OasOwEsR9Mc) If you'd like to hear a beautiful, cryptic, haunting story, please listen to it - it's in Japanese, but there are English subtitles translated by the creator.


	22. Insight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's say we up and left this town  
> And turned our future upside down  
> We'll make pretend that you and me  
> Lived ever after happily
> 
> \- Twenty One Pilots: “House of Gold”

L sat crouched in the back of the largest car he could get a personal driver for on such short notice, his suitcase laid across the seat beside him. It was a bit claustrophobic for his tastes, and he would have preferred to take a limousine, but it wouldn’t do to bring anything ostentatious. So far as the world was concerned, this place was nothing special, and he planned to ensure they never thought otherwise.

The snow drifted lazily down over the stonework streets of Winchester, turning to greyish slush under car tires. They passed under the branches of a large barren tree, and L watched the sky become segmented like a puzzle, pieces shifting and changing shapes before disappearing behind them. The buildings grew further and further apart as they drove, until they came to a large property surrounded by a high stone wall and a cast-iron gate.

“We’ve arrived, sir,” said L’s driver cordially. He parked the car and rounded it to open L’s door for him.

“Thank you,” he replied absently. He fished a twenty-pound note from his pocket and placed it in the man’s hand, dragging his suitcase up to the gate. It was unlocked: he had told Roger in advance when he would be arriving.

He walked into the front entrance and kicked off his shoes as the door clicked shut behind him. Between the two of them, it was clear that Wammy’s House had changed much less than L had, since he’d left. The polished hardwood floors, tall arched windows, and dark wooden beadboards were precisely the same. It all did feel much smaller and shorter, but that was entirely because L had grown up.

“L,” said a stern voice. “I see you’ve made it in one piece.” 

“For the most part,” L said, waving. Even that was rather an overstatement, since a large part of him was still in a mental hospital in Japan.

Roger walked over to L and held out his hand, clearly angling for a handshake; L gave him the handle of his suitcase instead. He really didn’t feel like enduring any physical contact right now, with how exhausted and burnt-out he was. 

“You mentioned you would be staying here,” Roger said, a hint of surprise in his voice, but no annoyance. “Do you have any preference for a room?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me,” L said, sliding his hands into his pockets. _I’m not going to get much sleep, anyway._

They both made their way up the staircase and took a right down a hall on the second story. There weren’t many bedrooms here that were designed for only one person, but there were likely several that were empty. 

“Do you know when Quillsh is planning to return?”

Roger turned to him, but L was staring at the floor as they walked. The tiles in the upstairs hallways alternated black and white, like squares on a chessboard. “His flight arrives first thing tomorrow morning.”

Roger took L’s suitcase up to a vacant bedroom at the end of the hall and set it beside one of two single beds. “You were somewhat unclear as to the reason for your visit, L. Is this because the reason is classified, or because there is no reason?”

“There’s no reason,” he said, lifting one foot slightly from the floor and scratching his other ankle with his toes. “I solved the Kira case, had some time, and wanted to see in person how the process of finding my successor was going.”

“I see. You did mention you wanted to speak with the children.” 

“Yes. Can I do that now? Or are they in the middle of something more important?”

Roger led L back out of the room. “The children have a recess period right now,” he said as they made their way down the hallway. “Is there anyone in particular you would like to speak with?”

L lifted one hand to chew on the side of his thumb as he padded down the stairs, taking the right he knew would lead him toward the main communal space. “The two called Near and Mello.”

They stood in the doorway. Some thirty-odd children, aged between 6 and 16, mingled around the room. Many were talking, laughing, playing. Others were occupied in their own smaller worlds. A young girl in a flower-patterned sundress sat on a windowsill, staring at the snow falling outside while chewing on the pendant of her necklace. A boy in his early teens wearing a red-and-black striped sweater sat near the middle of the room, fingers clattering away at a computer keyboard. And off in one corner, a boy all in white put together a puzzle.

“That is Near,” said Roger, pointing at the boy in white. “I saw Mello in the library earlier; I can fetch-”

“Don’t bother him,” L said, already making his way through the room. “I’m here for a whole month. I can talk to him later.” 

As L walked toward the back of the room, not one person looked at him strangely. It wasn’t because he was inconspicuous; only that everyone here was about equally conspicuous in a lot of the same ways, so he didn’t stand out. It wasn’t by any means a requirement, but the statistical majority of the children at Wammy’s House were somewhere on the autism spectrum. So, despite the fact that L hadn’t been able to visit (for security reasons, both on his side and the orphanage’s), he felt at home here.

L reached the opposite end of the room and stood in front of Near. The boy had copper skin and slate eyes, and that was the extent of the color on him. His long hair that he twirled around his finger, his matching pajama set, and even his socks were all white. He sat, crouched in a ball on a wooden chair, still staring intently at his puzzle - which was all colored white.

L climbed into the vacant chair across from him. “Good afternoon, Near,” he said.

Near looked up. His expression and voice were completely devoid of emotion. “Good afternoon, L.” He studied L’s face for a moment before his eyes dropped back to his puzzle.

The two of them had never met in person, but the ability to deduce his identity at first glance was the sort of thing that L would expect from his most promising potential successor.

L set his index finger on the corner of his lip. “What do you think about Kira?”

Near’s finger paused in twirling his hair, but only for a moment. Then he began unwinding the strand he’d just wound. “Intellectually, morally, or are you talking about the case?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” he fit in a group of puzzle pieces with a muted  _ click _ , “Intellectually, he must be very capable to be able to evade you. Especially given that his ego is probably a hindrance to his logical reasoning… Actually, on second thought, it may not be. He reminds me of Mello, using rash and impulsive moves to confuse his adversaries. That can be a strength, as well as a weakness. But… unlike Mello, it doesn’t seem that Kira cares for anyone, not even those closest to him. Although I suppose, if I’m wrong about that, you would know.”

L’s gaze narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Near finished unwinding that strand of hair and switched to winding a new one, at the same time testing out pieces to fit into a particular spot. “I don’t see how my perspective on the morality of Kira’s actions could be important,” he continued, “because people each decide for themselves what is right and wrong. All I can say is that I would find catching Kira to be an interesting puzzle. Did you, L?”

Catching him, yes. What happened afterward was more complicated. “I did.”

“As it relates to the case, it ended quite abruptly. I’m very curious what you did to get Light Yagami to confess.”

“In short,” L said, “I befriended him.”

Near’s eyebrows raised slightly, then lowered again. “Interesting. Are you able to explain?”

“Yes. But I’d like to ask you something first.”

Near nodded mutely as he finally found the piece, slotting it into place. 

“Why do you believe Kira is still alive?”

Near smirked. “Because I assign it a high probability.”

L smiled briefly. “Of course. And why do you assign it a high probability?”

Near paused, frowned. “I can explain my reasoning process, but I’m not sure how it would help. If your goal is to estimate the likelihood that the general public will find out about this, I'm not exactly a representative sample of an average person.”

“That’s exactly why it _would_ help. I can’t ask the mass of humanity ‘do you believe Kira is still alive, and if so, why’. But some people do believe it, for right or wrong reasons. And, if one person knows something, it’s possible for everyone to learn that thing. This is then exacerbated by the fact that most people believe whatever they’re told without question.” L glanced down at the mostly-completed puzzle, with only its center missing, then up at Near. “Do you understand?”

Near’s eyes narrowed. He put another puzzle piece into place. “You believe I could estimate the conclusion - not that any one person would come to, but that all of humanity would.”

“Mm,” L nodded, starting to chew on the side of his thumb. 

“I’ll do my best.” Near’s hands lifted from the puzzle, though he continued to stare at it. His hands took a small section of his hair beside his face and began to braid it. “There are five main reasons. First, the lack of a funeral. Second, the police statement. Third, the photographs released to the media. Fourth, the pace of your work. And fifth, the fact that you’re asking the question.”

“Please, elaborate.”

“Point 1 is self-explanatory. The Yagami family didn’t have a funeral and this is an unusual event more likely to occur in worlds where Kira is alive than worlds where he isn't. As to Point 2, the police statement was vague, nonspecific, and written in the way that people who believe lying is bad write when they must lie. As to Point 3, there are three things about the photographs that point to Kira being alive. In ascending order of importance: a shadow on the ground, the amount of blood on the walls, and the pattern of the blood on the floor.”

Near finished braiding that section of hair and took a similar one from the opposite side. “Point 4 relies on my private knowledge of you and your aliases, but it’s possible that one of your clients, or someone with a lot of time to research your past cases, could deduce it as well. Your recent work has increased in both speed and intensity, which says you’re working with a greater degree of mental capacity. This is more likely to happen in worlds where Kira is alive than dead, because you dislike killing, and like any human being, your productivity depends at least slightly on your mental state. Given the significance of the increase, I would even consider it likely that you’ve recruited him.”

His hands finished in their braiding, and returned to the puzzle, placing piece after piece in quick succession. “Point 5 won’t be available to anyone who hasn’t overheard this conversation, but I thought I should include it, for the sake of completeness. Obviously, it’s more likely that you ask this question if Kira is alive than if he isn’t. It’s _much_ more likely that you ask if you’re working with him.” He placed the final piece as punctuation to his sentence, and looked up. “Was that good? Did I miss anything?”

“Nothing important for your analysis,” L said, smirking. “Good work. That will be helpful.” He nodded, then lifted both hands and pressed the pads of his fingers together. “Now, you wanted to know how I befriended Light, correct?”

Near nodded quickly twice, staring intently.

And so L explained it to him. How their initially adversarial relationship had melted into something softer and kinder, despite the constant resistance from them both. How L had been torn during the investigation between wanting Light to be and not be Kira at the same time. And, when Light had confessed, how desperately L wanted to save him: from the natural, the supernatural, the world, and his own guilt. 

Near didn’t say anything when L finished his explanation, just stared at him with wide eyes.

“Was that good?” L asked. 

Near blinked a few times, then his expression returned to normal. “Yes. Thank you. If you don’t mind, one more question, for my own personal curiosity. What exactly is your relationship with Light now?”

Matter-of-factly: “I’m in love with him.”

A small smile was creeping up Near’s lips. “Interesting.” He lifted the frame containing the completed puzzle, and flipped it upside-down, pieces falling to the table with a cacophonous clatter. “The game hasn’t ended for you then, L. It’s only changed, restarted. Not L against Light, but L and Light against the world.”

“Not exactly.”

The smile slipped, and he lowered the frame to the table. “What?”

“Most people don’t have your ability to repress their traumas, Near.” L glanced out the window. The snow had stopped. “Light is currently in a mental hospital. I don’t know when he will be well enough to leave, but I doubt it will be soon.”

Near lifted his hands and slowly unraveled the small braids he’d put into his hair, staring at the table. “I see. That’s why you’re here alone, instead of with him. And why you want my help, when he's perfectly capable.” 

“Yours and Mello’s, but yes.”

Near nodded. “You _are_ aware none of that contradicts what I said, though. You, me, Mello, and Light are all on the same side. The fact that Light is sick doesn’t change that.” He dug through the pile of puzzle pieces on the table, found a corner piece, and clicked it into place. “In fact, he might be of critical importance to us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that the ways Near and L work with uncertainty are different. L thinks in probabilities - ie, "it's 7% likely that Light is Kira". But I thought it might be a nice point of character definition if Near thought a little differently. I figured Near would visualize probabilities in the context of some objective frequency at which the proposition is or is not true across a large number of Everett branches or Tegmark duplicates - ie, "in 7 out of every 100 parallel universes, Light is Kira". 
> 
> This is a lot closer to the way I personally make judgements under uncertainty, since I'm not very good at abstract math or keeping numbers in my head, but I am quite good at visual thinking. "7 in 100" looks like 7 red balls and 93 white ones, but "7%" just feels like a number. Given his propensity for creating and using detailed puppets to think through his plans, I figured Near was probably more of a visual thinker than L, and therefore, might think about probabilities a bit more like I do.


	23. Therapy Session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I took a journey to the lowest place on earth  
> Got a shovel and I dug into the dirt  
> Put an apple and some water in my backpack  
> Well I don’t know if I will ever take it back
> 
> This might be the lowest place on earth  
> Gone too deep, but for what it’s worth,  
> I have been to the bottom  
> I’ve drilled through the rock  
> And I know how it feels to freefall from the top
> 
> \- Alec Benjamin: “Journey to the Lowest Place on Earth”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a double post with the previous one (Ch.22, "Insight"). Happy Holidays, everyone <3 Congratulations on surviving 2020.

The room where Light met his new therapist didn’t look like it belonged in a hospital: more like a college professor’s office. It was all dark mahogany, from the hardwood floor to the bookshelves lining three of the four walls, to the glossy surface of the end tables that bordered the blue leather couch and chairs. 

The fact that there was a room like this just beyond one of the normal metal hospital doors was not helping the sense of unreality that had saturated Light’s thoughts since he’d arrived.

But at least the room looked like it belonged to this man. He was young - less than ten years older than Light, if he had to estimate - but there was a dignified air about him. He sat lightly in the left-hand armchair, looking almost like he was floating there, with one leg crossed over the other. He wore an ivory fisherman’s sweater with one of the sleeves tucked slightly under the edge of a brown-and-black wristwatch, black slacks with the cuffs folded once, and brown Oxfords. His ink-black hair was combed back and slicked against his head, and, looking out gently from behind horn-rimmed glasses, his eyes were a brown so warm and vibrant they looked nearly red.

Light stepped into the room, and the hospital orderly shut the door, leaving them alone together. “Hello,” Light said, bowing professionally despite how silly it felt to do so in his plain white hospital-issue clothes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” the man said, with a disarming amount of respect in his tone. Like he was Light’s professor or interviewer instead of his therapist. “Please take a seat. It’s Light, correct?”

“Yes,” he replied, walking over gingerly to sit on the couch. It felt strange to hear an unfamiliar voice say his real name. “And you are?”

“Doctor Akanishi Soubi,” he replied, “Akanishi written with the characters for ‘red’ and 'west’, Soubi with the characters for ‘rose’.”

“I’m sure you already know how to write my name,” Light muttered, “It is all over the news.”

“That’s true.” Akanishi laced his fingers together in his lap. Noticing Light’s furtive glances around the room, he added, “In case you’re worried, there are no recording devices of any type in here.”

Light nodded; that was one item ticked off a seemingly-infinite list of worries. Still, it made him feel a little more comfortable in this strange place. “I have a question for you,” Light said. He would have preferred a smoother transition, but he was too tired to come up with one.  _ I need to tick off this worry, too, if I’m going to do this. _

“Yes?”

The extremely short notice on which L had found this therapist for him, added to the fact that L was able to trust the man enough to tell him Light’s real name, meant the two had to have met before. Of course L could and would bribe people to keep them quiet, but there was only so much money could buy in the context of the world’s farthest-reaching serial murder case. It couldn’t be just that. These two had to have some previous connection. But L himself had never been to therapy, didn’t know hardly anyone outside of his work, and Light couldn’t come up with a situation in which he would meet a therapist working on a case. So it begged the question... “How do you know L?”

Akanishi chuckled. “He did say you were perceptive, but still, I’m impressed. I met L during my time studying at Cambridge. He dropped out after only a year, because his detective work was picking up, but we became well-acquainted, being the two youngest students at the school. We’ve kept in touch; L uses me as his go-to resource for anything to do with psychology or neuroscience.” 

Light nodded. He didn’t know L had even attended college, but it  _ was  _ the sort of thing he wouldn’t see the importance in talking about. He  _ did _ know L had an extensive network of experts with specialized skills in a variety of fields, from conning and thievery to more legal skill sets like architecture, linguistics, and apparently, psychology. “I understand.”

“So,” Akanishi said, “L has told me some things, but I would like to hear it from you. What do you want from our sessions together?”

The gears in Light’s brain grinded against each other as he forced himself out of his  _ charming, polite honors student _ persona, and into a mindset where he was able to be imperfect. It took several seconds of actual effort to do it. But so long as he stared at the floor, he could pretend that he was talking to L; at least enough to think the same kinds of thoughts.

_ I want to get better _ was the first thing that came to mind. But he knew that wasn’t very useful, so he kept trying.  _ I want things to go back to normal. _ But even he didn’t know what he meant by that. ‘Normal’ was some cobbled-together situation involving breakfast with his family, working with L at Task Force HQ, and sleeping with L at his house in the forest.  _ I want to have a good life. _ But what qualified as a good life for him? 

Finally, still staring down at the hardwood between them, Light said: “I want to help.”

There was a moment of silence, with Akanishi waiting for him to elaborate. When Light didn’t speak, he asked in a gentle monotone, “Help whom?”

“Everyone,” Light shrugged. “Myself, L, my family… the world in general. I’m not sure if I  _ should  _ still want that, after what happened... last time I tried. But I  _ do  _ want it, Akanishi-san.” The strength of his emotion burned through his chest; he wasn’t letting it show on his face, but it came through anyway in his voice. “I want it more than anything.”

“And you can’t do that.”

Bitterly, “No. Not stuck here.” Light looked up again. It  _ was  _ getting easier to stay in this headspace the longer he did it. The utter lack of pity in the other man’s tone helped. “Stuck in my brain, not in this hospital. Though being  _ physically  _ here doesn’t exactly lend itself well to being productive, either.” He sighed. “For the past six months I was working with L, using his aliases. We helped a lot of people. But it wasn’t as many as we could have, if I wasn’t…”  _ Useless. Crazy. Worthless. _ “...sick.” He rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “I know it’s not helpful to say ‘I want to get better’, because ‘better’ isn’t a goal. So here’s my goal. I want to be well enough to direct all my cognitive energy toward helping people.”

Akanishi nodded, slowly. “Keep in mind that no one can ever direct  _ all  _ their energy toward any pursuit. People are people, and we all have bad days.”

Light sighed. Miffed, he said, “Most people don’t end up in mental hospitals, Doctor.”

“I hadn’t finished. I wasn’t intending to say that everything is fine as it is. And I  _ will  _ help you to get better. But you seem a lot like L to me, and though I’m not as close to him as I might like, I do know that he’s a perfectionist. From what L tells me, Light, you have made a lot of progress already.” 

Light’s eyes narrowed in lieu of giving the doctor the withering glare he wanted to.  _ You’re saying that after I had to be taken to a hospital? Really?! I’m weaker now than I’ve ever been in my life- _

Akanishi lifted his eyebrows. “If I asked you right now if you wanted to die, Light, what would you say?”

Light blinked, and sat back in his seat. “I…” He imagined it now. Dying in any of the number of ways he’d fantasized about. A knife to his throat, or a noose about his neck, or a fall from a height. With each, a twinge of fear tugged at his chest. The compulsion not to think about it. The knowledge that his death would hurt someone he cared for. With a voice slow and confused, like L’s had been after the first night they’d slept together, Light said, “I… don’t want to die.”

Akanishi tilted his head aside and lifted his palms up briefly, the gesture making him look very much like L for a moment. “You see? That’s progress. You shouldn’t discount it because you aren’t completely healed yet.”

Light folded his arms, embarrassed that he hadn’t seen this already, and a bit annoyed with how little qualified as progress for him these days. It used to be that in order to get people to praise him, he’d needed the top grades in his school, or a critical insight into a case. Now they would get all up in kahoots about him just staying alive. 

“So, your goal is to spend as much time as possible helping others, but your trauma and hallucinations make that difficult. Correct?”

“Yeah.”

“I would like to tell you, Light, that you don’t  _ need  _ to fix the world. That is a tremendous burden to put on yourself. You don’t have to do  _ anything  _ in particular with your life, besides keep it.”

Light nodded as his promise to L from earlier that day echoed in his mind.  _ I’ll stay alive for you. _ Then he shook his head. “Why is it that any time I say I want to save the world, everyone acts like I must have had a traumatic childhood or something?”

Akanishi stared at him impassively. “Did you?”

Anger flared in Light’s chest at the implication that his family had traumatized him, and his next words were curt. “No, I  _ didn’t _ .” He sighed, rubbing his fingers against his forehead and bringing himself back under control. When he looked back up, his expression was flat. “Before Kira, I was just a normal kid. Intelligent and ambitious, sure, but that’s all. I hadn’t been traumatized, nobody I care about died… hell, not even my grandparents. Wherever this…” he clenched his fist on the edge of the couch, “this burning desire to change the world came from, it predated Kira. It probably  _ caused _ Kira.”

He went on, “My parents never pushed me to change the world. They never pushed me to do anything. Everything I ever did came from my own willpower.” Light felt, and ignored, the flush of shame that always came with thoughts about his family. “I’ve wanted to fix the world as long as I can remember, as long as I have written records of my thoughts.”  _ Which goes back to my first diary from when I was 7. Back then, I thought I wanted to be an inventor, before I considered becoming a detective. _ “And there was no traumatic event in my life that made me want to do it. I just… saw that the world was corrupt, that it could be fixed, and I… well, I wanted to do something about it.”

“I see.” Akanishi nodded once. “I ask about this because it is disturbingly common for ambition to be a cover for insecurity, especially if the motivation to  _ be _ ambitious comes from the outside. But there’s nothing inherently  _ wrong  _ with you for wanting to save the world, Light. Although I do believe you could be a bit more careful with your selection of methods.”

Light nodded slowly, resting his fingers on his cheek. That was the second time he’d thought he’d figured out the mistake that allowed Kira to exist, and been wrong. But if it wasn’t the impulse to self-sacrifice - because L had that too - and it wasn’t the impulse to change the world - because that was a risk factor but not a mistake in and of itself - then what was it? Sometime, when he was less exhausted, he would have to figure it out.

“L tells me you were reluctant to accept medication.” Akanishi’s voice snapped him from his thoughts.

“Yeah. If there’s another way, I’d prefer it.”

“Why?”

Light looked back at the floor as his hands fell to his lap. “I’m afraid the drugs will be worse than the disease. Not for people in general, if that were the case the companies wouldn’t make them. For me specifically. Some people might take a 10% decrease in mental acuity for an 80% decrease in hallucinations, but that tradeoff wouldn’t be worth it for me.”  _ It’s a lot like the shinigami eye deal, really. _ “If I can solve the problem on my own without needing it, then I won’t do it.”

“I see.” A slight chuckle. “You really do sound just like L sometimes. But I doubt  _ that  _ would be the tradeoff. And, even if it were… given the pattern of your symptoms, it seems most likely that you would only need to take medication for a few months. Aren’t you already willing to take a few months away from your life to heal?”

Light bit his lip. He hadn’t actually been sure how long he was planning to spend here, although if someone had ballparked ‘a few months’ as a number, he would probably have agreed. But hearing it spelled out like that, as a certainty and not a likelihood, made it feel like an eternity. 

Right now, while he was sitting here in this room, someone could be hurting. Dying. Calling out for help that wouldn’t come, because Light couldn’t be there. Because he was sitting here being sick instead of working. 

_ It’s all your own fault. You picked up the Death Note. This is the consequence for your idiocy.  _ Light’s fingers pressed imperceptibly harder into the fabric of his pants, as he forced his expression to remain neutral. 

“I am willing to do that,” Light said, his voice almost monotone, “but I would prefer to keep drugs out of it if possible. At least for now. I appreciate your understanding.”

“Alright.” His tone said he would bring the topic up again later. “L mentioned to me that you would prefer to start cognitive-behavioral therapy. Do you know what that entails, Light?”

Light paused. He’d been meaning to look up the strange phrase after L had said it, but he hadn’t gotten the chance. “I think so, but would you please explain it anyway? L isn’t the best in the world at explaining things, as I’m sure you know.” 

“Gladly.” Akanishi smiled. “When I was a grad student, I taught a rat to play basketball.”

Light tried not to roll his eyes.  _ This guy has the same penchant for starting in the middle of stories that L does.  _

“Now, ordinary conditioning involves seeing behavior and rewarding it, which creates more of that behavior. If I want a pigeon to press a button, I just give it food immediately after it does that, and it begins to associate button pressing with food. But that depends on the idea that the pigeon would already press the button of its own accord at some point. A rat does not play basketball of its own accord. So, how do you condition an animal to do something complex?”

Light shrugged.

“You reward successive approximations. I gave the rat a treat when it got on the same side of the cage as the ball, and then when it put its paw onto the ball, and then when it rolled the ball toward the hoop. Our fear responses are one of the things we have most in common with rats. So it isn’t a surprise that, if you’re trying to get rid of a fear response, you use the same technique I used to teach a rat to play basketball. You reward successive approximation. That’s the core of CBT.” 

“So…”  _ An example, please? _

“Your intake sheet mentions that you’re triggered by pens. So we might start with letting you look at a pen, and then rewarding that effort. Then you might touch it, without picking it up. After some time, you would be able to write again.”

Light’s eyebrows raised. That was something he’d never expected to be promised: a specific, verifiable, tangible result. All this mental stuff had always seemed to be sort of greyish and fuzzy, difficult to define. A broken bone could be seen on an x-ray, healed with a cast. A broken mind was harder to diagnose, and to treat. But maybe, that was because Light had been analyzing the problem of the broken machine  _ using _ the broken machine. “I see, but how would this help my…” he searched for the word L had used, “...psychosis?”

“Your hallucinations themselves are much less of a problem than the fear they trigger. CBT focuses on the fear, and tries to condition it out by questioning the beliefs that keep it in place.”

_ Are you sure that would work? _ Light didn’t say it aloud, because he already knew the man would say yes. Of course he would. People don’t reconsider their ideas when they’re asked whether they’re sure. Well, people other than L don’t.

The whole thing seemed far too good to be true, too simple to work. There had to be some exception, some problem, some unaccounted-for situation. Some reason it wouldn’t actually work for him.

Light’s mind started down the path of doubting, trying to find that problem, but stopped short. Because he realized it didn’t matter. Even if he wasn’t sure - or Akanishi wasn’t sure - even if the chance of success was less than a tenth of a percent - it would still be worth pursuing. There was no point in doubting the efficacy of the only hope he had.

He had no other choice than to try to get better. He had promised L he would stay alive. And he couldn’t lie to L. Not again. Not ever.

“I understand,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akanishi's "teaching a rat to play basketball" story comes from a real experiment my mother did while in grad school studying psychology at Stanford. She used that story to explain operant conditioning to my siblings and I when we were kids, so I figured it would have a place here, since operant conditioning is foundational for CBT.
> 
> (Oh, and, yes, CBT *is* one of the most common therapies used for patients with trauma and psychosis, and what I've described *is* how it works. All the science in this story is real science.)


	24. Alternatives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world has not been heaven-sent,  
> the world is not in hell just yet  
> Existing in between, a silver lining there  
> The cards will show what tomorrow brings  
> The wind will blow; the future it is carrying  
> What will it be?
> 
> \- Jonathan Young: “The Day”

L hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to Mello that day, or the day after that. He probably could have forced the issue, but he didn’t want to interrupt the curriculum that he'd worked so carefully with Watari to help design. 

On the third day of his stay at Wammy’s House, L was crouched on the floor of his room, using the bed as a desk to rest his computer. He hadn’t left this position since before the sun set, so the rest of the room was soaked in darkness. 

Several articles, written by less and less esoteric news sources - though none of them Japanese, fortunately - were discussing L’s coverup of what really happened to Kira. He was reviewing them to try to come up with a plan, but the more he looked, the less ideas he had.

The mess of evidence they had all presented was everything from the clearly relevant to the extraordinarily tangential, with a large number of contradictory analyses of L’s personality thrown in. How much of it L would have to disprove in order to fix this and get everything back to normal was anyone’s guess.

A quick, compulsory knock came at the same moment the door opened, streaming in the bright yellow hallway light. A short, thin figure stood silhouetted against it. “L,” he said. It was part greeting and part accusation.

L tried to blink the afterimage of his screen from his vision to see the boy better, but he didn’t really need to. He couldn’t mistake that arrogant tone. “Good evening, Mello.”

“I heard you talked to Near.” He spat the boy’s name like an insult.

“He was available. Had you been there I would have spoken with you first.” He hoped that was what the boy wanted to hear. L was very aware of Mello’s inferiority complex and rivalry with Near, but he was mostly helpless to do anything about it. He barely talked to either of them, and then it was through a voice filter and a computer screen.

Mello  _ hmphed _ and walked into the room, flicking on the light. He shut the door and leaned back against it, arms and ankles loosely crossed.

L climbed up onto the edge of the bed, turning around in the process. He rested his hands on his knees, staring at Mello. The boy clearly had something to say.

“You’re here because of the rumors that Kira’s alive.” Mello said. He wasn’t looking at L, just staring out the window into the darkness. “I knew it before Near did, you know. He was all about the hard evidence, but I just knew what kind of person you are. You’re working with him, right? With Kira?”

“His name is Light,” L said.

“Sure, whatever.” Mello blew a puff of air from the corner of his lips, making a quiet  _ pff _ sound. “You want my help figuring out how to fix this mess.” The intonation wasn’t right, but it was a question.

“That’s right. Any ideas?”

Mello smirked. He’d come here  _ because _ he had an idea. Two ideas, actually. L always tested him like this whenever the two of them spoke, no matter the circumstances, but this time he’d come prepared. “Background first, since I know you’ll ask for it anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“You have two options. Deny that Ki- that Light is alive, or confirm it. If you deny it, you’ll need to convincingly fake enough evidence to convince the world they were wrong. Some of it seems pretty easy, some seems hard, but the major risk is that if you slip up a single time with any of it, the act of trying to cover it up will only confirm peoples’ beliefs that there’s a conspiracy. If you’re going that route, I’d recommend just passively changing things, instead of making some kind of announcement. Internet nerds’ insufferable need to fact-check everything will make sure your new evidence gets out.”

L nodded. So far, that was exactly what he’d been thinking himself. But Mello had also brought up a second possibility… “And if I confirm it?”

“I need more background for that one.” He tipped his head back against the door, looking up through his eyelashes at the ceiling. “While you were working on the Kira case, I kept on thinking,  _ why is L the only one who has any idea who Kira is? _ Of course you’re smart, but I figured that at least  _ somebody _ would have at least  _ some _ suspicion, if the guy was obvious. We’ve both caught enough serial killers in our time to know what the obvious ones are like.”

L smirked at a fourteen-year-old boy saying  _ in our time _ to someone nearly twice his age, but Mello wasn’t wrong. He’d solved a number of cases using some of L’s lesser-known aliases during the past four years, and he was right: the majority of the trouble in finding a serial killer is meeting him in person. Once that’s done, they all tend to act the same way. That was part of what had inspired L’s decision to visit Light at college, after his suspicions were increased by the incident with the potato chips. 

“But Light couldn’t be the stereotypical obvious serial killer. He fooled everyone except you. And so I got to thinking, what’s an uncommon thing about you that would make you hard to trick?” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a bar of chocolate, unwrapping it. “The answer is, you’re autistic.” He bit off a corner of the bar, which muffled his next words slightly. “So then, Light has to be charismatic and persuasive.”

“So based on that, I can give you a strategy for confirming the idea that Light is Kira, and he is still alive. Have Light write a speech, and deliver it live in an international broadcast.” He smiled and took a large bite from his chocolate bar, chewing it with a satisfied smirk. “He’s charming, persuasive, a great writer, and a well-trained actor. If anyone can convince the world to spare his life, it will be Light himself.”

L just sat there, looking at him. After a long silence, he asked, “Can I have a piece of that?”

Mello rolled his eyes and procured a second, identical bar from his other pocket. He walked just barely close enough to reach over and hand it to L, then backed up again, this time sitting on the bed across from him. His searching eyes bored into L’s.

“Those are good ideas,” L said, giving the validation he knew Mello wanted. “Thank you for bringing them to me. They will be helpful.”

He smiled and nodded. “You’re welcome.”

“You put a lot of thought into the second option, but I think the first is actually more viable. Do you know why I think that?”

He frowned, replying without thinking. “No, why?”

“Think about it for five minutes. I’ll keep the time.” He looked over to his laptop - it was 10:19 now. He kept staring at the screen instead of looking back at Mello. Light had told him once that staring at people makes it hard for them to think.

Mello would know that L was actually timing him, and wouldn’t let him stop thinking about the problem until the five minutes were up, or he’d come up with a good solution. So he spent the time thinking instead of fuming at L about his ridiculous problem solving habits.

At 10:21, Mello muttered, “I have one idea, but it doesn’t seem like enough.”

“Say it anyway,” L said, not looking up from the article he was pretending to read.

“Well, the conditions of Light’s almost-suicide imply he’s guilty. I could imagine he’s in a bad mental state still. But people can learn to live with mental problems, L. I would think that after almost six months he would be doing better. At least well enough to write a speech. So, that’s something, but not enough.” He sighed, and it turned into a quiet frustrated growl.

“Let me tell you the rest.”

“No,” Mello snarled, “I can do it myself. I have three minutes still, let me use them.”

L shrugged. He let him sit there thinking for three more minutes. At 10:24, he said, “Time’s up. I didn’t expect you to come up with my real reason, since if you’d known it, you wouldn’t have come up with the idea in the first place.”

“Did you give Near this test?” Mello glared at him.

“No. I didn’t speak with Near about any of this.” He sighed. “May I give you the answer now?”

“I guess.”

L just sat there, eyebrows raised, staring.

Mello stared back for ten seconds. Twenty. And then he caved, shoulders slouching in defeat. “...Yes. Please tell me.”

L nodded, smiling. “I’m sure you’ve met people outside this institution who think that, because you’re a genius, you can do anything. That you’re superhuman, or have no limits. I certainly have. But while our limits may be higher than most peoples’, they still do exist. Tell me, Mello: given a few free months to study and experiment, do you think you could predict the flow of the stock market?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t tried, so I don’t know. But probably. I have a good grasp on economics and math, which is really all you need, right?”

“I would add business and psychology, but anyway.” He shook his head:  _ that isn’t the point. _ “Now, given a few free months, or even years, do you believe you could prove Reimann’s hypothesis?”

Mello’s eyes widened, and he sighed. “Leaving aside how much of a  _ drag  _ that would be to even try… no, I don’t think I could.”

L turned up his palms for a second, then set them back on his knees. “That’s how it is with every skill. People like Light, who are natural charmers and persuasive communicators, are also not superhuman. They have limits, although they are higher than most peoples’. You cannot think of people like him as black boxes of infinite charisma, just like others cannot think of us as black boxes of infinite processing power. We all have our limits. And I think your idea will run past the edge of Light’s.”

Mello stared up at the ceiling behind L with a frown. His teeth seized a corner of his chocolate bar and broke off a large piece with a  _ snap _ . It hung from his lips as he chewed on it slowly. “What’s your confidence level,” he said, words muffled.

“Only 45%. It might be possible. In which case, I’m wrong about this, and you’re right. But my hunch right now tells me this would be more like Riemann’s hypothesis than the stock market.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of “think about the problem for 5 minutes by an actual clock before giving up” is a technique I first learned about from Eliezer Yudkowsky - either in [this essay](https://www.lesswrong.com/posts/erGipespbbzdG5zYb/the-third-alternative), or in his extraordinary canon-divergence fanfiction, [Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality](http://www.hpmor.com/). I use the technique in my daily life, and figured it would be the type of thing L would do, too.


	25. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are questions I can’t ask,  
> now at last the worst is over.  
> See the way you hold yourself:  
> reel against your body’s borders.  
> I know that you hate this place,  
> not a trace of me would argue.
> 
> \- Hozier: “To Be Alone”

Light sat eerily still on the couch, staring intently ahead with myopic focus. His heartbeat was frantic, but not uncontrollable.  _ I can do this. _ He focused on his heavy, labored breathing, trying to keep it from slipping out of control.  _ Just a little bit longer. _ The muscles in his shoulders stuttered, trying to spasm, but Light wouldn’t let them move. He held his body perfectly steady, the only motion being the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

The pen rested steadily between his fingers.

“Set it down now, Light.”

It took him a moment to register the words. When he did, he took his time laying the pen down on the couch beside him. Aside from the shaking in his shoulders, the motion was almost natural.

“Well  _ done, _ Light!” Akanishi clapped, a wide grin on his face. 

Light looked up like waking from a dream. He blinked at Akanishi, and realized he was smiling, too. “Thank you,” he said, feeling his breathing start to return to normal.

“That’s some really excellent progress on that side of things. At risk of belaboring the point, you are very impressive, Light.” He gave a proud smile, like an older brother’s. “Now, let’s discuss your second piece of homework.”

Light shifted into a more comfortable position, resting his elbows on his knees. “I did what we agreed I would, but I don’t think it helped very much.” He’d resisted the temptation to consider this a personal failure, so it was just vaguely disappointing. “I think it didn’t work because... I know  _ intellectually  _ that the idea that Kira is omnipotent and can take complete control of my body at any time is false, but actually  _ using  _ that belief to refuse something he’s telling me to do… is hard. If I had a knife in front of me, I think I’d still be afraid he would make me hurt myself with it.”

Akanishi leaned forward slightly, raising one eyebrow. “Any ideas for what you could do to make it easier?”

“Hm… That example made me wonder, do you think you could set it up so I actually had a knife in front of me? Do it like the exposure therapy we’ve been doing with the pen.”

“That seems very risky. Even if we had people here ready to sedate you at a moment’s notice, there’s still a chance they wouldn’t get there in time.”

“Then put me in restraints,” Light said. “I’ll just try to control the thoughts. Like I did when I was just looking at the pen and imagining picking it up.”

He shuddered a bit involuntarily, thinking of that. For a long while he’d dreaded having to drag himself to Dr. Akanishi’s office twice each week, because he ended up having a panic attack basically every time. Even though it was at least partially his own fault for pushing himself so far and not being honest about his limits, that didn’t make it any less awful.

But, he reminded himself, it wouldn’t be like that this time. He had better control over his emotions, and a better vocabulary to describe what was going on in his head. And he’d done it once before. Conquered a fear once before. 

He glanced down at the pen that rested now on the opposite side of the couch from where it had started. When he’d first begun this process, all he’d had to go on was the thinnest possible shred of hope. But that pen was proof. He was improving,  _ really _ improving, not just no longer imminently suicidal, but actually able to hold a pen for several straight minutes without breaking into an uncontrollable sobbing fit, or even breathing too hard. 

“I see,” Akanishi nodded. “What are some possible pitfalls of your idea? I ask not because I think there are any, but because you’re smarter than I am, and if there are, you’ll find them.”

Light smirked at the praise, turned his eyes to the ceiling. “The only pitfall I can think of would happen if you didn’t restrain me well enough. There are specialized tables for things like that, right? It’s probably a better idea to use one of those than just a pair of cuffs or a straight-jacket.”  _ Leaving aside the fact that I never want to be in a pair of handcuffs ever again, if I can help it. _

“Alright. I think that can be arranged. Anything else before we create next week’s homework?”

Light nodded, looking back at Akanishi. “I’m a bit concerned that the hallucinations haven’t gone away, or even let up. Even if I  _ can  _ get them to stop being so...  _ emotionally draining _ ... it’s still irritating to not know what’s real and what’s not.”

Akanishi uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again the other way. “Can you guess what I’ll say to that?”

Light stared at him. For a moment, he was confused why he was asking him to guess  _ this _ . Typically he only talked like that when he was being Socratic on purpose, to help Light figure things out on his own. But then he saw the smile playing at the corners of Akanishi’s lips, and sighed. “You want to give me drugs.”

“It’s the one thing you haven’t tried yet.” His eyebrows were raised as an invitation to consider it. “You can always stop taking them if there are too many side effects.”

Light paused. Sighed. The man was right, and he knew it. He’d been afraid of this before, but the reasons no longer made sense. He knew he wasn’t gaining anything by keeping his brain the way it was, any more than a cancer patient would be staying true to themselves by refusing chemotherapy. The cancer wasn’t an important part of them, and Kira wasn’t an important part of Light. 

He laced his fingers together and rubbed one thumb against the back of the other. “Okay.”

Akanishi nodded approvingly, like he’d been waiting for this to happen. “I’ll have a nurse bring your pills to your room at breakfast time tomorrow morning, then.”


	26. Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This suffering... It's like a storm over our heads,  
> but I will still rise to my feet through the mud of ridicule and doubt.   
> I'm trapped in this storm, and every time my dreams and my ideals are within my grasp…  
> The more I grip, the more they slip through my fingers,  
> leaving me with nothing but this   
> warmth, telling me that we deserve to live this life   
> and push beyond this stream of disappointment   
> to where the light shines!
> 
> \- Jonathan Young: “Singing to the Sky”

The buzz of productivity that had saturated the air in L’s temporary workspace had been gradually declining in intensity over the past three weeks. The sounds were still there - clattering of keys, scratching of pens, rustling of papers - but all the energy had gone out of them. It was steadily becoming obvious to the people in the room that this problem might be, not only difficult, but borderline impossible.

(The idea that the problem might be  _ actually _ impossible has not crossed their minds. The people in this room have not gotten where they are by giving up, and nothing about this problem explicitly violates any laws of physics.)

The clattering paused as a teenage boy with short messy hair dyed deep red, whose outfits seemed to always include striped sweaters and blue jeans, sat back and stretched. 

L looked up from his screen, which stood on the tabletop in front of him as he crouched, tired and tense, on the edge of an adjacent wooden chair. “An update on your research, Matt?”

The boy shrugged noncommittally. “Some of this stuff is gonna be comically easy. What worries me is that there’s a lot that isn’t digital. I mean… I can totally hack the newspaper records and the obits and stuff, but I can’t edit peoples’ memories, and it would take actually flying to Japan if you wanted me to fix the tombstone.”

L set his thumb between his lips, murmuring around it. “This depends a lot on how far we’re expecting people to dig.”

“Exactly.”

L sighed. “Keep finding action items, without doing anything.”

Matt raised his hand in a two-fingered salute and returned to his keyboard.

“Mello, how is the analysis coming?”

He looked up from his spot on the floor next to Matt; his legs didn’t pause in kicking at the air. He twirled his pencil between his fingers. “Making some progress. You wanna see?”

L nodded, reached his hands out, closed and opened his fists. Mello tossed the yellow legal pad at him; L fumbled it and bent a corner of a page. He smoothed a finger over the crease as he read the notes. At the bottom, Mello had summarized his findings:

_ 25% want Kira to be alive (supporters, worshippers, etc) _ _   
_ _ 45% are outraged at L / the government over the coverup _ _   
_ _ 20% hate Kira and want him dead _ _   
_ _ 10% neutral curious bystanders _

There was some other data, a Venn diagram detailing the overlap between the categories, and a list of sources - including but not limited to a Reddit thread called r/conspKIRAcies. In a little box off to the side, there were a few direct quotes from notable people who had commented on the subject.

“Misa Amane officially declined to comment on the Kira conspiracy?” He pulled the notepad closer to his face.

“I wrote that down because it seemed strange to me, too,” Mello said. He reached into a bag and pulled out a foil-wrapped chocolate, popping it into his mouth and tossing the wrapper into a little pile of silver that was forming between his computer and Matt’s. “Til now, she’s used her platform to support Kira at every conceivable opportunity.”

L’s brow furrowed. He threw the notebook back at Mello, who caught it effortlessly, and typed out a quick note to look more into Misa. Then he looked across the table at Near, who was still staring at his laptop. “Near,” he said. “Report?”

He peered over the top, resting his fingers on the edge of the lid. “The algorithm is still running,” he said. “I’ve been working on a program to interpret the results when it finishes, but I doubt it will do so for several more hours.”

L’s fingertips tapped the edge of the table. He had very little patience for things like this. But it wasn’t Near’s fault. He would be just as annoyed if it were his own code running. “Thank you. Please keep me informed on your progress.”

L hopped up from his chair to pace circles around the outside of the room. The more they worked on this, the less sure he was that it would go well. There were so many different points to consider, so much data to interpret. And they had to work quickly, even quicker than they already had been, because public opinion  _ shifted _ , and if they weren’t fast their data would become obsolete. After a few weeks of trying not to, L had finally given up and interrupted the three boys’ lives completely to get them working full-time on this. He was planning to pay them for that trouble. 

His flight back to Japan left in five days, but he was tempted to postpone it: it had been easier to exchange ideas since they’d been working together in person, in the same timezone. 

Even so, on some level he knew he wouldn’t. There was too much of importance to L in Japan right now for him to stay away much longer. 

Before he could think too much about that, L sighed, and returned to the problem.

The main issue was with changing the beliefs of millions of people  _ subtly  _ enough that they mostly wouldn’t notice. It would be easier to do that if L had connections in places of social power, but the closest he’d ever come to even  _ knowing  _ someone like that had been Misa. L had recruited people in the past for their  _ skills _ , not their  _ influence _ . He cursed under his breath at that stupid oversight. It was exactly the sort of thing Light would have thought of.

He rubbed at his eyes, feeling the familiar burning that came with insomnia. L was trying very hard  _ not  _ to think about Light. If he started thinking about him, he started missing him, and then he started worrying, and then it was all he could do not to call up the hospital and demand to speak to him. Light was focusing on his own work. L had to focus on this.

A knock came at the door, and Watari entered, carrying a tray of food.

_ Maybe back to focusing after lunch. _

Watari walked around the room, serving each of them what they preferred: a chocolate ice cream sundae covered with chocolate syrup and a brownie on top for Mello, a plate full of white foods (plain yogurt, white bread with butter, plain bagels with cream cheese, and a glass of milk) for Near, several boxes of differently-flavored Pocky for Matt, and a pile of candies for L.

As Watari was leaving again, L picked up his plate and followed him. “Where are you going?”

Watari paused, turning to face L. “To the kitchen. I planned to serve a lemon meringue pie for the children after dinner.”

“Let me help,” L said, starting to walk again.

Watari nodded, following at his side.

* * *

The kitchen at Wammy’s House was near the center of the first floor, and it looked more like the back of a restaurant than a home kitchen. There was a huge electric mixer and a delicatessen slicer on one counter, two massive wire shelves - one of which contained hundreds of pots and pans and mixing bowls, the other housing non-perishable foodstuffs - along the opposite wall bordering the door to a walk-in cooler, and two separate ovens with stoves sitting in the center. 

Watari brought a large metal bowl to the counter along the back wall and separated half a dozen egg whites into it. L grabbed a whisk, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work beating them to death.

“It must be a particularly tough problem you’re working on, if you’re asking to cook with me,” Watari mused. 

L stared at the wall, but he could hear the man setting ingredients out on the countertop and preparing his workspace. The repetitive motion of whisking was starting to help him focus. Pulling his mind away from Light. “Yes, it is. Public opinion is a difficult thing to ascertain, and an even harder thing to change.”

“I believe Light could help with that second problem. Have you spoken with him about this?”

L gave an aggrieved sigh, but didn’t reply right away: he heard the door of the walk-in cooler open and shut. When he heard the same noise again, he said, “I told him it existed, but that was almost a month ago, and I haven’t discussed it with him since.” His brows furrowed. “I can’t burden him with this, Watari. He has enough on his plate.”

A small, impartial hum. “You burdened him with your work.”

L huffed. “I didn’t bring that up, he did. And this isn’t the same. He wasn’t in a hospital then.”

An oven door opened, and there was a quiet grating sound as something slid across its grill before it shut again. L felt warmth across his back as the heat dissipated through the room.

“Being sick does not prevent people from working, L.” The muted  _ tch-tch-tch  _ sound of whisking in a metal bowl was the background to his words. “Paul Kalanithi wrote  _ When Breath Becomes Air _ while battling severe lung cancer.”

“That’s physical illness,” L said. His arm was starting to tire, the whisk no longer moving in fluid circles, so he switched hands and kept going. The egg whites were just starting to become frothy and opaque. “Mental illness is different.”

“The two tend to run together.” A burner clicked on, and a pot was set onto it. “I’ve noticed that both of you seem to forget, Light is other things besides ill.”

L just frowned at the wall, knowing Watari would continue if he stayed silent.

“Illness is not as all-consuming as you seem to think. Even if much of Light’s time might be taken up by his illness, that does not mean  _ all _ of his time will be. And I’m aware you already know that a key step of recovery is being given responsibilities.” He had poured a mixture into the pot and begun to stir it with a wooden spoon.

L sighed. “This is  _ my  _ problem, Watari. My fault. It wouldn’t have happened without the foolish oversights I made because I was emotional. _ I  _ have to be the one to fix it.”

A soft chuckle. “I’m sure Light would say that the problem is his, as he was the one to pick up the notebook.”

L stopped whisking abruptly. “He couldn’t have known-”

“-and neither could you.” He took two steps over to L, laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re too hard on yourself, L. You two have that in common as well.”

L set down the bowl. The meringue wasn’t finished, but he turned around to look up at Watari. With a frustrated glare: “What do you want me to do.”

“I would never venture to  _ tell you what to do _ , L. Not even when you were a child have I ever once done so.” He gave a gentle, paternal smile. “I am  _ suggesting _ that you speak with Light about this problem.”

Watari was right: he had never told L what to do, in the sense of giving him a  _ my word is final _ kind of command. But he had given advice with the obvious subtext:  _ you can do whatever you like, which means you are free to make a stupid choice, but I’m still telling you it’s a stupid choice. _ Like he was doing now. 

L picked the bowl back up as Watari’s hand left his shoulder and his steps clicked back across the tile. He continued with his whisking, pushing away the childish indignation and focusing on the content of the argument. After another moment, he said quietly: “I’ll do it.”

“Hm?”

He made his voice loud enough to be heard. “I’ll tell Light,” he said. “Ask for his help. As soon as I return to Japan.”

* * *

When L left the room, the door clicked shut. For several minutes, there was silence, broken only by the sounds of work. And then, Near looked away from his screen. He took a bite from his bagel. “Mello,” he said. “I have a question for you.”

“Mh?” Mello asked, glaring up at Near with a mouth full of ice cream. His upper lip was thinly moustached with chocolate syrup. 

“Do you think this is the best way to do this?”

“I guess.” He sat up and shrugged, dragged his tongue across his cold spoon. “I came up with another idea, but L didn’t like it.”

Matt stopped typing, looked up at Mello. He held the strawberry pocky in the corner of his lip like a cigarette as he asked, “What was your idea?”

“Thought Light could write a speech, maybe persuade the world he didn’t deserve to die. But L thought that was impossible. Gave the example of proving Riemann’s.”

“I mean, I’d been thinking about a similar solution, but I’m not as smart as L, so he’s probably right,” Matt shrugged. He fed the pocky stick into his mouth like spaghetti, and grabbed another from the box to replace it.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought, too,” said Mello. He took another spoonful of his ice cream. He looked back at Near, not bothering to hide his disdainful sneer, since L wasn’t around to rebuke him this time. “Why’d you bring it up, N?”

Near kept up his vacant stare, and didn't react at all. “I thought the same thing as both of you.” Another bite from his bagel, followed by a spoonful of yogurt. “But even though each one of us individually isn’t as smart as L, don’t you think the three of us together should be able to surpass him?”

Mello ate another spoonful. He could kinda see what Near was getting at. If just one of them had the idea that L might be wrong about this, that didn’t say much, but all three of them, who now had the same background information (since they’d been working together for almost a month), thought the same thing. It wasn’t just that, either. L himself had told Mello that he was only 45% confident.

“You’re right,” Mello said.

The room was silent.

Matt gaped up at him. The pocky stuck to his bottom lip for a moment before falling to the floor. Even Near had stopped eating.

Mello heaved a sigh. “Yes, I agreed with you, okay? Is that so impossible?” He took to his feet, crossing his arms. “L and Light managed to put aside their differences to work together. We’ve both been doing this for weeks, no matter if we were working on different things. Do you know how hard that was, having to work with  _ you _ ?”

Near just looked at him, expression blank. 

“I did it anyway,” he said, “because there are more important things than  _ you _ , Near. L’s  _ life  _ is at stake! I don’t know about you, but I care at least a little bit about that! So yes, I agreed with you. I’ll agree with you a thousand more times, if you can have that many good ideas. Now, are we going to help L’s stupid boyfriend get out of the gallows or what?”

“Yes,” Near said. The corners of his lips twitched, but he held back his smile. Good thing too, because Mello was about ready to punch something, and it would be counterproductive for it to be him. This was the closest they had ever come to getting along. “I think one of us should call Light, and ask him in person.”

“L hasn’t done that already?” Matt asked incredulously. He gestured abstractly with a stick of chocolate pocky. “I would think anybody would-”

“L isn’t  _ anybody _ ,” Near looked between Mello and Matt. “Do either of you think he would?”

“No,” they said in near-unison.

Near’s eyes closed and his eyebrows raised, like a shrug made into a facial expression. As though he was, nonverbally, saying,  _ So there you have it, then. _

“Fine,” Mello looked askance, “but how do we do that? L said Light was in a hospital right now.”

“I can find out which,” Matt volunteered. “L would prob’ly have used one of his aliases, right?”

“L has hundreds of aliases,” Near said. “I have no reason to believe we know all of them.”

“I never said I was a hundred percent sure it’d work,” Matt said, fingers already clattering on his keyboard, “I said I’d try. And oh, here it is. Tsuki Ryuzaki, admitted to Seiwa Hospital in Shinjuku on December 29th, 2007.”

“Ryuzaki, the alias from the LABB case,” Mello said. “But where’d he get ‘suki’?”

“It’s ‘tsuki’, with a ‘t’ sound at the beginning. It means ‘moon’ in Japanese, and it’s how you’d normally pronounce Light’s name, given the character it’s written with.” When Mello gave him a look which was intended to mean  _ how much of a nerd are you _ , Matt said, “What? I studied a little bit of Japanese.”

“Yeah, okay.” Mello flicked his wrist dismissively. “Who’s gonna impersonate L to call the hospital?”

Near raised his hand. “I could do it. I have also studied a bit of Japanese.”


	27. Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you searching for a purpose?  
> Then write something, though it might be worthless.  
> Then paint something, though it might be wordless.  
> Pointless curses, nonsense verses,  
> you'll see purpose start to surface:  
> no-one else is dealing with your demons  
> meaning, maybe defeating them   
> could be the beginning of your meaning, friend.
> 
> \- Twenty One Pilots: "Kitchen Sink"

The arts and crafts room of the hospital was quiet, the pervasive silence broken only by the scratches of pencils and the snips of scissors. In the corner, Kai - the cryptic boy who thought Light was a wizard - was already sitting and cutting out extremely intricate paper snowflakes. The two of them had kept each other in good company, both being geniuses who saw things that weren’t there. 

Light walked across the room, making his way to the corner where his friend waited, but halfway there, he stopped. 

He had a few more days until his next session with Akanishi, but… he could actually hold a writing implement now. For the first time, he was genuinely excited to do his CBT homework.

He walked over a table in the middle of the room instead. It was large, circular, and low to the floor, with some cushions laying around it. A middle-aged woman sat silently at its other end, drawing a surprisingly good picture of a horse using crayons.

He picked a sheet of lined paper from a packet in the center of the table, and reached over to pull a mechanical pencil from a cup. His fingers stopped just short, and he took a deep breath.  _ I’ve got this. I did it before, and I can do it again. _ He lifted the pencil from the cup and set it to the paper.

His breathing was speeding up too quickly at the sight of the pencil nearly touching the space between the lines, so he shut his eyes.  _ I won’t hurt anyone, _ he reminded himself as he focused on each breath, counting in and out for eight.  _ I can’t hurt anyone with this. It’s just a regular, ordinary piece of paper. _ He turned the pencil over between his fingers, feeling the cool metal of the barrel, the rounded point of the clip, and trying to ground himself in the physical sensations.

When he opened his eyes again, his breath had steadied. His shoulders weren’t even shaking. Light smiled.

_ Now what should I write? _ All he’d agreed on with Akanishi was that he was going to write something at least one sentence long.

He didn’t know, so he just set the pencil’s tip on a line at the top of the page and dragged it vertically down to the next line down, connecting them. He was grinning now. He’d hardly panicked at all at the feeling of pressing the pencil to the page.

He drew another vertical stroke right beside that one, and then a horizontal dash between them. A small loop beside that, two more lines, and a circle.

_ Hello _ , the paper said.

Light chuckled to himself as he added another word after that.

_ Hello world. _

He muttered under his breath, still smiling. “The first sentence I’ve written since giving up the notebook, and it’s a programming joke.”

He rested his chin on his palm, staring at the paper. He moved the pencil to a new line. Strictly speaking, he’d finished his homework, but he had plenty of time left in this room, and he wanted to do more.

Still writing in English, he started a new line. 

_ Today marks the twenty-fifth day since _

His fingers paused. 

The light in the car had flickered as they’d passed under streetlamps, L’s face passing in and out of shadow. His eyes were frantic even though the rest of his affect was flat, and he was riding the gas, driving solidly 20 kph over the speed limit. Light had stared at him, still half-lost in space but falling rapidly back to earth by the pull of his worry. 

The pencil pressed again to the page.

_ Today marks the twenty-fifth day since L brought me to the hospital. I’m feeling much better than when I came in. Not well enough to leave yet, but I hope I can close that gap soon. _

His thoughts returned to L again, trying to imagine what he was doing at Wammy’s House right now. Light had never been to the place, but there was a picture of the exterior hanging on L’s dining room wall. He imagined the inside as warm, homely, with dark wood accents and lots of books. A bit like L’s library, if the whole building were designed like that. It would be the middle of the night in England now, which meant L was probably crouched in bed, scrolling on his laptop.

Light smiled gently, drawing little spirals in one corner of the paper. It had almost been a month, and Light was on the mend. They would get to see each other again soon. He took a slow breath. The air was sterile and tinged with paint fumes, but Light could imagine the heady scent of L’s shampoo. Could remember the sweetness on L’s lips when they kissed.

During their last conversation, L had said he was going to England to solve the problem that many people had found out Light was alive. Light wondered how he was going to do that. He turned the problem over in his mind himself: if L tried to deny it, he would have to do a lot of very delicate, imperceptible lying, changing evidence to make the truth seem like a conspiracy theory. It seemed like the kind of thing L could pull off, especially if he had help... but it was so risky. Not that the Kira case  _ hadn’t _ been risky for him, but still.

_ When in doubt, tell the truth; it’s easier to remember what you said. _ The adapted form of the David Mamet quote had driven a lot of Light’s decisions in life, even before Kira. Speaking the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, basically always led to disaster. There were just too many social situations that required ‘tact’, ‘diplomacy’, or ‘negotiation’ (which were, of course, just fancy words for lies). But when choosing between multiple  _ possible  _ lies, the one closest to the truth tended to be the best option.  _ And the truth is, I am alive. _

He flipped the pencil over and traced the eraser in circles, slowly erasing his spirals. There were two major problems that made it a bad thing for the world to realize he was still around. First, it was a threat to his and L’s wellbeing - in the sense of jeopardizing their work as well as their lives. Second, relatedly, that threat to their work would jeopardize a lot of other lives collaterally.

The source of this problem was that people generally thought that Kira deserved to die. At least, enough people, with enough fervor, to have their will enforced. The government had its obligation to enforce the death penalty for murderers, and the people had their resentment and hatred for a man who had killed so many.

Light lifted the pencil to tap it against his cheek as he realized that both of these problems were solvable.  _ And not only that: I’m in the best position to solve them. _

He began to consider options for conveying the necessary information. A series of essays, anonymously published online? An article, sent to all the most prominent international news sources? 

_ Oh. _ Light chuckled quietly to himself. The answer was obvious as soon as he took a  _ complete _ catalogue of his skillset. He would deliver a speech to the people of the world via a synchronous international broadcast. L’s influence and the importance of the information itself could get him a spot on all the major news stations. 

_ That  _ was how to do it. If he could persuade people that he had changed - which, again, was the truth - then hopefully, he would be able to keep the life he’d recently realized he wanted.

An ambitious smile spread across his face then, as he realized what  _ else _ he could do with a speech like this. It wasn’t a necessity, and he wasn’t certain he could pull it off… but if he could, he would change the world. This time, for good.

Looking across the table, eyes fixating on the cup full of pens and pencils in its center, Light frowned. Not because he was having second thoughts about his ability to write an excellent speech, or to deliver it persuasively. But writing this would require deliberately lingering in a headspace he had been working for the past twenty-five days to get  _ out  _ of. Fear crawled through his chest at the thought, and he set the pencil down onto the table, pressing the side of a closed fist to his lips.

_ Face it, _ the thought struck him,  _ I have to face it. Every time things have gotten worse, it’s been because I ran away. And every bit of healing I’ve done has been through facing the pain. _

The fact that it would be hard was just another reason he had to do it.

* * *

Light lay back on his hospital bed that night, fingers laced behind his head and resting atop the crumpled pillow. He stared at the opposite wall beside the door. At the end of their time in the arts and crafts room, Kai had gifted him a piece of paper art, which Light had tried very hard not to rip as he’d taken it back to his room and fastened it to the wall with a bit of Scotch tape. It was extremely intricate, with dancing couples and flowing dresses all mirrored fourfold around an abstract circular center that mimicked a ballroom floor. 

It was nice to have something in his room that was pleasant to look at, even if it was still the same white. His eyes could trace the curves and points of the paper as he stared into space, absorbed in thought. 

This speech would need to be the best thing he’d ever written. But that wasn’t a very helpful thought: it wasn’t as though he could open a terminal in his brain and run  _ SUCCEED _ as a primitive action, so all such a thought would do was add pressure.

Still, he couldn’t quite  _ ignore  _ it, so that pressure simmered in the back of his mind as he thought of more useful things: the topic, the flow of the arguments, the audience’s emotions.

He was about halfway through running over the facts he would need to cover when he hit a stumbling-block. At a certain point, he wanted to explain the mistakes he’d made that had instigated the entire situation. The problem was, he didn’t know what they were.

He considered the wrong answers he’d posited in the past. Being an altruistic optimist wasn’t it. Passion about changing the world wasn’t it. If it wasn’t a personality trait, and it wasn’t an emotion, the only remaining thing was a belief. So which specific, false belief had caused this mess?

Light was broken from those thoughts by a knock at the door, a demanding one that said the person on the other side would come in anyway if he didn’t reply. They didn’t used to knock, though, so it was an improvement so far as Light was concerned. “Come in,” he called.

A nurse pressed the door open, covering his phone with his hand. “I have someone here to speak with you,” he said, sounding a bit urgent. 

_ At this hour of the night? It has to be- _

“He says his name is L.”

Light all but leapt from his bed. “Okay,” he said, trying to keep his voice level as he held out his hand.  _ Please let me talk to him. _

The nurse handed him the phone and the door thudded shut behind him.

“Hello, L the second,” said an unfamiliar voice on the other end. He spoke English with a strong British accent.

Light blinked at the wall.  _ The second? _ he thought.  _ Who the hell is this? _

“This is L the third. But you may call me N.”

As Light listened to the voice, he realized that it belonged to a boy - a  _ young _ boy, no older than 13. And he knew where he had to be calling from. And he realized who this had to be. “It’s nice to meet you, N. How are things at Wammy’s House?”

He could hear a bit of a smile when N spoke next. “Good. Very good, Light. We’ve been working very hard, at your boyfriend’s request.”

_ We, huh? There’s more than one genius child working with L, then. I wonder what they’re calling me for. _ “I’m glad to hear that. Tell me N, what was the purpose of your call?” Light made his way back to the bed and laid back down, holding the phone against his ear with his shoulder.

“We have been trying to cover L’s tail for three weeks, but the more we cover, the more we uncover. We realized there’s too much to fake, and the consequences of failure are too terrible to take the risk. We believe you might be able to help.”

“You haven’t told L about this,” he said. It wasn’t a question.  _ The fact that it’s not L on the other end means N has to be calling me without L’s knowledge. Which also means that he, or one of his compatriots, managed to find me. They’re smart. If they’ve decided there is too much to fake, I think I can trust their judgement. _

“No, we haven’t. He refuses to ‘bother you’. Are you bothered, Light?”

_ And there’s the reason L hasn’t already asked me about this. He’s so dumb sometimes.  _ “Not at all. What do you need?” He didn’t have access to a computer, not one where he wouldn’t be monitored by a nurse who would write down everything he did. And he didn’t have his phone. So despite his willingness to help, Light wasn’t exactly sure what they might want him to do. 

“Would you be able to convince the world to change their beliefs about a critically important topic in the span of ten minutes?”

“Given a few days to prepare for those ten minutes, yes.” Light smiled, realizing what N was asking. “In fact, I think I’ve already started.”

A small chuckle. “Interesting. Then, I will leave you to it.”

* * *

“It seems that Light is one step ahead of us. I’m beginning to see why L is so attached to him.”


	28. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And your heart's against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck  
> I'm falling for your eyes, but they don't know me yet  
> And with a feeling I'll forget, I'm in love now
> 
> Kiss me like you wanna be loved  
> You wanna be loved  
> You wanna be loved  
> This feels like falling in love  
> Falling in love  
> We're falling in love
> 
> \- Ed Sheeran: “Kiss Me”

L rubbed at his tired eyes as he meandered off the plane, dragging his suitcase behind him. It was late at night, and the darkness outside turned the airport windows into mirrors. L watched his reflection in the glass as he made his way away from the terminal toward the exit. He was worried about Light, about the conspiracy, about everything, but it all melted together in his sleep-deprived mind until there were hardly any thoughts at all. If it had been critically important to get his brain to work, he would have been able to, but he was glad it wasn’t necessary. 

He walked slowly through identical hallways, up and down escalators, and passed by a giant Christmas tree that was for some reason still up in the middle of January. Maybe it was too much of a hassle to take it down. Eventually, he escaped outside through glass sliding doors, breath clouding in front of him as his warm breath met freezing air. 

He walked toward the end of the sidewalk, away from the very few people who were there. He pulled out his phone to contact Watari when he noticed a pair of headlights rounding the bend, and squinted at the brightness. The sleek black sedan slowed to a gentle stop a few feet from where he stood, and the driver dimmed the lights.

L frowned, looking at that car. It looked a  _ lot _ like his own. The same make, same model. It even had a similar- no, it was the  _ same exact  _ key scratch on the hood. Had Watari decided to pick him up in his own car? That wasn’t like him.

The driver’s side door swung open, and out rose a head of golden-brown hair, long bangs hanging slightly in front of amber eyes. A black fleece overcoat pulled smoothly over a dark blue collared shirt, well-ironed slacks and polished Derby shoes. The man smiled at L as he rounded the car. The smoke of his breath danced off his lips, but that face was unmistakable.

“...Light...kun…” He was walking closer without thinking about it, biting his lip hard, unable to tear his eyes away.

Light walked slowly for a few more paces, trying to keep his cool, but soon broke into a run and all but fell into L’s arms. “Lawliet-kun,” he said, his breath warm and fast as he tilted his head to nip kisses up L’s neck. “Oh god, I missed you so much.”

L tipped his head back; his cheeks were so hot he barely felt the cold, and his heart hammered against his ribcage. He pulled Light in closer and whispered, “I missed you too.”

Light trailed a line of increasingly-ravenous kisses along L’s jawline until he found L’s lips and devoured him. He reached up, weaving his fingers into messy dark hair as L’s insistent tongue pressed into his mouth, just as anxious to touch, to taste, as Light himself, and caring just as little at the prospect of making a scene.

Light smelled like warmth, like home. The scents of soap and aftershave that L bought for himself, scents he would have had memorized except that they were so different on Light. L just wanted to sink into it, sink into the way Light made him feel like he was  _ enough _ , and always would be. He kissed Light as though by swallowing his breath, he could swallow that feeling.

When the lack of air finally forced L to pull away, dizzy and quietly gasping, he tucked his chin over Light’s shoulder. His entire body was shaking. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he ought to be embarrassed at being so clingy, so emotional, but Light was holding him just as firmly, like he too didn’t want to ever let go.

“Let’s get out of the cold,” Light murmured against L’s shoulder. “It can’t be good for you, since you’re not even wearing a coat.”

“I don’t mind it,” L said, but he let Light step away and grab his luggage anyway. He did want to go home, relax in their own bed, and get his first few hours of restful sleep in a month. So as Light popped open the trunk and tossed L’s suitcase into it, L took his place on the passenger side, toeing off his shoes and crouching on the heated seat.

The door clicked open and Light slid into the driver’s seat before pulling it shut again behind him. “I hope you don’t mind I borrowed this,” he tapped the steering wheel as he put the car in gear and turned away from the airport. “I was just released from the hospital a few hours ago, and I wanted to be the one to pick you up.”

“I don’t mind at all,” L said. His voice was quiet with residual surprise. “You were let out… today?”

Light nodded. “Doctor Akanishi said I was well enough to go home. I’ll still be on antipsychotics for a few more weeks, and I’m going to be emailing him with updates on my progress. But I’m doing better, Lawliet-kun. Much better.” He gave a triumphant smile, the kind he wore when he solved a difficult case.

_ Speaking of cases… _ “Light-kun,” L said, his voice returning to a normal volume. “You remember I told you about the problem, that I’d gone to England trying to solve?”

Light nodded. His expression said he’d been thinking about the problem, too.

“I wanted to ask you a question about it.” 

His voice was impassive. “Go ahead.” 

“Do you think you could convince the world to spare your life?” It was a very blunt way of asking, but L was nothing if not blunt. He stared at Light, whose expression made it clear he wasn’t surprised by the question in the slightest. 

“Yes.”

L kept looking at him. There was a little wrinkling at the corner of Light’s eye that said he was holding back a smile. 

“Actually,” Light said, keeping his eyes trained on the road as he opened the center console and removed a stack of papers, “I already wrote a speech to do just that.”

L took the stack in his usual thumb-and-forefinger grip, holding it in front of his face for a moment before he lowered it again. “This is… your handwriting…”

Light smiled now. He reached into the console again and pulled out- A pen! He twirled it effortlessly between his fingers, breathing still completely normal, eyes still on the road. “Yes, Lawliet-kun, it is.”

“You can- I mean you-” L dropped the papers against his chest, hands flying up to cover his lips as he choked on his words. His eyes burned again now, but not only for lack of sleep. 

“Impressed?” Light asked, still with that confident tone, until he glanced over at L and lowered the pen. His gaze was concerned. 

L nodded emphatically, blinking away the tears as he lowered his hands. “I  _ am  _ impressed. And so proud of you. I… mean that in the least patronizing way possible.” He tapped his fingers against the paper a few times. “I wish I hadn’t been so stubborn, that I’d taken you to a hospital right away.” A wry huff. “Yet another strike against my perfect reputation.”

Light laughed, then. A proper laugh that shook through his chest and made him tip his head back for a moment. “Lawliet-kun, you  _ are  _ both stubborn and wrong, but not about that.”

“Wrong? Me?” L deadpanned. “I’m never wrong.”

Still grinning and glancing at L from the corner of his eye, he said, “I wouldn’t have gotten anything out of therapy at all if  _ you  _ hadn’t convinced me I deserve to be alive.” His smile softened, and his next glance lingered a moment longer. “That I had someone to stay alive for.”

When Light reached for him, L grabbed his hand between both of his own. “I’m very happy, Light-kun. That you stayed alive for me.”

“I  _ did  _ make a promise.” He squeezed L’s hand, a bit awkwardly given their present entanglement. “I know you read quickly, but you couldn’t have read the whole script. Go on, take a look.” He tipped his head briefly aside in a gesture toward the papers.

L nodded and let go of Light’s hand to lift the stack again.

Light watched as he read. L set the pages upside-down on his knees as he finished them. His expression remained flat, but his toes were scraping the edge of the seat more and more as he read onward. When he set down the last page, he stilled. He kept staring straight ahead as he lowered the page, completely silent. The streetlamp-light danced through his eyes. 

“What did you think?” Light asked, a little hesitance in his voice, like he’d turned in an assignment he wasn’t sure was up to snuff.

L was eerily still, not even blinking as he stared at the road ahead. Finally, “This could  _ work _ ,” he said quietly, in awe. “This could  _ really work _ .”

“So you like it, then?” Light was smiling again. He’d hoped it would be good enough. He hadn’t shown it to anyone besides Watari, who’d picked him up from the hospital, and Watari was always too nice.

L nodded. “I do like it. It’s excellently written, and very persuasive. But, Light-kun…” he lifted his thumb to his lips, “you don’t actually believe this, do you?”

He shook his head. “No, Lawliet-kun, I don’t. I just thought it would go over better than the truth, or, better than the  _ whole  _ truth, anyway. Wanting to atone for everything I’ve done  _ is _ still something I care about. But I’m not staying alive purely out of guilt.” There was the click as Light put on a turn signal, looking to his right to change lanes. His gaze lingered in L’s direction. “I’m staying alive because I want to be with you.”


	29. Oratory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Je vois que beaucoup de gens meurent parce qu'ils estiment que la vie ne vaut pas la peine d'être vécue, et j'en vois d'autres qui se font paradoxalement tuer pour les idées, les illusions qui leur donnent une raison de vivre. Ce qu'on appelle une raison de vivre et en même temps une excellente raison de mourir."  
> "I see a lot of people die because they don't believe that life is worth living, and I see others who paradoxically are killed for the ideas, the illusions that gave them a reason to live. What we call a reason to live is also an excellent reason to die."
> 
> \- Gang of Youths: “Achilles, Come Down”

T- 15 minutes.

The ceiling lights were beginning to burn into Light’s eyes as he stared vacantly upward. He was laying on the floor of the studio dressing room, arms stretched out to the sides and legs crossed at the ankles, already in his black button-up and dress pants. (He wasn’t worried about messing up his clothes. The room had been deep-cleaned within an inch of its life.)

The tension in his shoulders made them spasm against the thin carpet every few seconds, but trying to relax didn’t work, so he just let it happen. He took a few deep breaths, using the therapy-approved 8-in-8-out approach, but nothing he did with his body seemed to have any impact on his mind.

What he did in a few minutes would decide the course of the rest of his life. His, and thousands of others. In a very real way, the whole world was depending on what he did today.

And he wouldn’t let them down. Not again.

He lifted his arms from the floor and turned his palms to the ceiling, splaying out his fingers. He watched the light disperse through his fingertips, making them glow slightly orange around the edges. He turned them over and back, just looking at the interplay of light and shadow.

“Light-kun,” said a familiar voice, “They’re ready for you.”

He pressed himself off the floor and rose to his feet. He shut his eyes, feeling the warm breath leave his lungs. “Coming.”

Light took one last look in the mirror, straightening his already-perfect hair. He could see the determination flash through his eyes, and he almost smiled. 

He nodded at his reflection and walked with long, confident strides to the door, pushing it open. L was waiting for him there, looking nervous enough for the both of them. Light gave him a smile he hoped would be reassuring, and led the way to the set.

No less than five TV cameras, each with its own crew of operators, were spread around a comparatively underwhelming centerpiece. A simple white backdrop behind a low wooden lectern that would border the bottom of the frame from any angle. The only thing that rested upon its smooth matte surface was a single silver nameplate, with black sans-serif letters reading  _ Light Yagami _ .

Light waited in a spot that was out of view of the cameras, but in view of the operators. He wanted everyone to know he was ready. There were two minutes left before the live broadcast was set to start. Light straightened the cuffs of his sleeves, and looked over at L.

He was staring absently, like he wasn’t paying attention to anything that was happening. His thumb rested between his lips, but he wasn’t chewing on it, just staring at the empty set.

Light walked around and stood right in front of him; L’s eyes focused, staring into his own. Light smiled at him, tracing his thumb over L’s cheek. “I’m going to be great,” he said. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be saying that?” L said. Still, he couldn’t seem to manage a frown; in fact, the corners of his lips quirked up. 

Light shrugged. “You were the one who seemed nervous.” He reached around to thread his fingers through L’s messy hair, untangling a few small knots in the process.

“L is never nervous,” he said, smiling properly now. “Light-kun must be mistaken.”

Light grinned right back, and in an artificially deep and gravelly voice he said, “I’m never wrong.”

L laughed. Paused a moment, staring, and then bounced up onto his tiptoes to kiss Light’s nose. “You  _ will  _ be great,” he said.

Even though Light hadn’t been nervous, that still made him feel better.

The cameramen called Light over to the set with a discordant insistence, so he pulled away. As he walked the twenty feet which felt to Light like twenty miles, he spared L a wave over his shoulder.

The moment his heel hit the edge of the set, Light’s demeanor changed. It was as sudden and dramatic as a slap to the face, but if someone had asked L to pinpoint precisely what it was Light had done, he couldn’t say. All he knew was that Light had gone from a student on his way to a test he knew he would ace, to a convicted felon walking up to the gallows.

He came to the lectern and rested his hands on it. Like meeting the eyes of a loved one he didn’t know whether he could bear to face, he looked to the central camera. And, when a cameraman gave a hand signal, Light’s lips parted, and he began to speak.

“My name is Light Yagami. But you will probably know me better by another name:

“Kira.”

* * *

T- 10 minutes.

In one of the more popular bars in one of the larger American cities, a woman elbowed the man sitting next to her. “Did you hear that? L is gonna release new information about the Kira case on live TV tonight.”

The man looked up at the TV, watched the reporter theorizing about the topic of the upcoming broadcast. “Yeah,” he replied, taking another swig from his bottle. “I wonder what he’s gonna say. I don’t think anybody knows.”

“Do you think the rumors are true? That Kira’s still alive?”

He threw the bottle back, glugging down the last few gulps. “Guess we’ll find out.”

* * *

T- 5 minutes.

In one of many near-identical high-rise apartment buildings on the outskirts of Beijing, four generations of family members sat huddled around a television, staring at the subtitles. None of them had personally been affected by Kira, but they, like everyone else in the world, knew who he was. Their opinions on his actions were mixed, but all of them were curious about the truth of what really happened on August 10th, 2007.

* * *

T- 3 minutes.

On the second floor of a supposedly-abandoned warehouse in Shinjuku, a small group of people sat in predefined rows and columns, staring in rapt attention at an LCD television. It was sitting on a stack of cardboard boxes and powered by a car battery, but it was going to let them find out, once and for all, the true fate of their god.

* * *

T- 2 minutes.

On city streets around the world, the normally bustling crowds stood still, staring up at screens. Every one, playing the same broadcast. Everyone, waiting to learn what had really happened that day, seven months ago. 

The whole of humanity held its breath as the timer ticked down.

* * *

T- 1 minute.

A young woman sat alone in a large, empty house in rural Canada, staring at her television as she held her coffee mug in a white-knuckled grip. As the last minute ticked down to the scheduled broadcast time, she glanced at the photographs on her mantlepiece. Her brother, not even twenty-five when he’d been murdered by Kira, stared back through the glass. 

If it turned out that L had spared the life of her brother’s murderer, she might have to fly to Japan and finish the job herself.

The reporter announced the time, and the screen switched to a capital letter L in Cloister Black surrounded by a plain grey background. There was complete and total silence. And then, the L flickered away, and standing there was a young Japanese man.

The rage flared up in her chest, and her muscles tensed as she fought an impulse to smash her cup into the floor, or fling it at the television, or scream, or cry. She just sat there, hands trembling, as  _ Kira _ stared at her from the screen.

But as quickly as it had started, the anger began to flicker out. The man on that screen looked like he stood before a hand upheld to strike him, and he was resigned to the inevitability of the pain. He looked like he was standing in front of _her_ , watching her shaking on the verge of tears, and felt terrible about having hurt her.

When he spoke - in English - his words were slow and cautious. “My name is Light Yagami,” he said. “But you will probably know me better by another name: Kira.”

“I know it’s a shock, to see me standing here today when I was supposed to have died seven months ago. I know that you’re angry, and betrayed. Not only is the monster Kira, the worst serial killer to ever walk the earth, still alive, but the government you trusted to deliver justice has lied to you.”

The man’s eyes glanced downward as he fidgeted with his hands. “I understand completely if you want me dead.”

No, he wasn’t fidgeting. He was unbuttoning his cuffs. And now he rolled up his sleeves, slowly, carefully, and when he’d finished he held his arms out with wrists upturned. The insides of his forearms were covered with a mess of scars, some old, some new, rather several looking large enough to have been potentially fatal. “Up until very recently, I did too.”

“But I’ve come to realize I don’t deserve it.” He lowered his arms slowly to his sides, wincing as the cuts brushed his clothes, and looked back up, so his eyes again met hers. “That would be the easy way out, a way to avoid answering for my sins. The reason I tried to kill myself in my cell was because I couldn’t face the guilt of staying alive.”

She’d released her death grip on her mug by now, but her glare remained fixed on the screen as the anger melted into confusion.  _ What the hell is he saying? _

He stared with a hollow determination, eerily like the one she’d seen in her own face, reflected in the glass facing her brother’s pictures. “I now know,” he said, “that I don’t deserve to die.”

* * *

Light glanced away from the camera for a second. His heartbeat was rapid, but steady, and he was doing well enough at controlling his breathing. There was just enough of his real emotion in his voice to be convincing, but not so much it would make him unable to speak.

He took a breath, looked back up into the camera, imagining he was looking at his mother. He knew that on some level, he was. 

“I have a very good memory, especially for words. Words and names, names and faces. I remember every single person I’ve ever met… And I remember every single person I’ve ever killed. All their names, all their faces…” His next breath stuttered. “I can tell you exactly how many there were. 22,459.”

He clasped his hands behind his back, and stared forward. “During the past seven months, unknown to the world, I have been working alongside L. With my help, his capacity has increased twofold. Not only that: other detectives around the world have noticed, and increased their workloads as well. Combined, we have saved over 8,000 people. My work alone has contributed 3,500 to that number.”

He’d worked with L to do those calculations. They had projected an average-case scenario for how the situation would have gone, if Light hadn’t helped to resolve it, and compared it to what had really happened. It was surprising to watch the numbers add up. Seeing a number that large, imagining so many people who were all still alive because of him… it’d brought a smile to his face. And now, it brought him the determination to move forward.

“I hope you will let me keep going.” His hands fell back to his sides as he clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. “I want to save more lives than I’ve taken. And then go further, and save more lives than that.” More of his desperation seeped into his voice as he stared at the camera. “I hope you will let me spend every day I have left helping others. That is what I deserve to do. Not escape through death, but attone through life.”

_ That should work for most people… Now, for those who won’t be persuaded by numbers. For the people I’ve personally hurt. _ He steadied himself, and let a little more of the storm inside his head show through. He glanced aside as his lip trembled, and he pressed his arms closer against his sides. 

“I’ve been speaking in numbers,” he said quietly, “but 22,459 isn’t some abstract figure. It’s brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, friends and lovers. And I know that none of what I’ve said, none of what I’ve done, and nothing I will ever do can bring them back.”

Light bit his cheek and shut his eyes tightly for a moment, blinking away the tears burning in the corners of his eyes. Not yet, he shouldn’t cry yet…

He swallowed, ran a trembling hand across his face. “If I had an eraser I would undo it in a heartbeat. But there is no such thing. The only, meager consolation I can offer, is that if my death would bring them back, I would do it right now, without a second thought.”

He looked down from the camera now, at the light glinting off the edge of the nameplate. His voice lowered. “The only thing I have to control is the rest of my life. And if I can use it to spare someone else the pain you have endured at my hands… maybe, that could be a piece of the recompense I owe you.”

Another deep breath. That was one of the hardest parts, now over with. He was nearly halfway finished. He could do this.

* * *

From behind the desks, inside the monitor-rooms, and across the floors of the most powerful individuals in the world, a hundred faces were etched with doubt, watching their screens. All of them were thinking some variant of the same thing, until the man - the young, sad, vulnerable man on the screen - looked back up.

“I know many of you will be skeptical, hearing this.” A bit of fiery intellect flickered in his amber eyes. “Kira says he wants to help people? It must be a trick, a ruse, a ploy for power.” He frowned. “I understand completely.”

“So let me explain the mistakes I made that led me to become Kira.”

He lifted one palm to the air like an actor in a Shakespearian play, the slant of his eyes speaking foreknowledge of the story’s tragic end. “When I first received Kira’s power, I thought I could finally do something about the problems of the world. I was tired of being at the top of meaningless hierarchies. The best score in the country on a standardized test is only so great an achievement when every news broadcast reminds you of the misery and death of innocent people.”

“And then suddenly, one day, I had power. Power enough to make a difference. The very first thought I had was, ‘I can use this to help people, to make the world a better place’.”

“At first, I was careful. My first victim was a man with no living relatives, who was holding a daycare hostage. For a while, I researched all my victims, re-solved old cases just to be sure, and only killed when I knew it would save others. Serial killers, mafia bosses, gang leaders. Even then, taking lives… weighed on me. I wanted to give up.”

He shook his head, sighing. When he lifted his gaze again, there was pain in his eyes. “I wish I had. I really, really should have.”

“Because at some point, something snapped. I think it was when I let myself believe I was infallible.” He laughed, or sobbed. “You get that way, when you’ve never gotten less than a perfect mark on a test, when the world treats you like you’re  _ better  _ than other people because of which school you go to.”

He held his own hands on the lectern surface, gripping his fingers tightly. “But they were wrong. And  _ I _ was wrong. And that was the worst...” his eyes shut as his breath stuttered, “the worst mistake I ever made in my life.”

His fists slammed into the lectern as his chest shook. “And I’m sorry,” his voice grew louder as tears began to fall down his cheeks, “I’m  _ sorry _ that mistake cost  _ you _ , when it only should have cost  _ me _ . It would have been- would have been fine, if my mistake had only cost, my own life…” His head dropped, bangs falling over his eyes. A final few teardrops fell down his chin. “But it cost others… so, so many others.”

He took a shaking breath and lifted his arms, wiping his eyes with the backs of his wrists. He didn’t look at the camera, even as he started to speak again. “I’ve realized, I was wrong about the whole thing, all along. Killing anyone, in any circumstance, can never be good. No matter who it is. I know now that people don’t commit crimes because they’re immoral, but because they’re hurt, and they feel they’re making the best choice available to them at the time. I should have looked for a way to help those people, or to fix the systems that broke them, instead of trying to justify murder.”

He looked up, the edges of his eyes reddened. “I hope you can find the compassion to spare Kira’s life, for the same reasons.”

* * *

Light paused, gripping the sides of the lectern, leaning on it for support. He took a deep breath and filled his lungs as far as they would go, then let the air out slowly. His vision was blurring, but he wouldn’t let himself break down. He could do this. He had a speech to finish.

“I want you to know,” he said, “that I’m not pleading for my life for its own sake. I don’t value it nearly enough. I’m pleading for my life on behalf of the others I know I can save.”

Another pause, this one smaller. He was nearly finished now. “I plan to offer my services as a detective for free, and to focus especially on cases for those I’ve hurt. In addition to giving up Kira’s power seven months ago, I have also been living in complete isolation from society, and I plan to keep doing so. There are checks in place to prevent me from hurting myself or others, including a weekly meeting with my therapist, which will continue for the foreseeable future.”

“I greatly appreciate the time of everyone who has listened to this broadcast. I will await your decision, and accept it when it comes.” He extended his open palms toward the camera, with every ounce of hope and determination and desperation that he felt pouring into his eyes. The thought, loud as thunder though it wasn’t spoken aloud:  _ my life is in your hands. _

And then his arms returned to his sides, and he bowed deeply. “Thank you,” he said. And just before everything switched off, he added, “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of the philosophy behind this chapter can be found [here](https://txt.fyi/-/2142/eefbb789/).


	30. Misa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fight of my life is so hard  
> but I’m gonna survive  
> Oh, these are beautiful times
> 
> \- Owl City: “Beautiful Times”

It wasn’t even twenty-four hours after the broadcast concluded before the news articles started rolling in. 

_ Kira’s Heartbreaking Speech Creates Worldwide Outcry: “Spare Kira!” _

_ #SpareKira Trending on MySpace, Twitter, Facebook _

_ Kira’s Message Provokes Global Reconsideration of Capital Punishment _

Individuals joined the conversation just as quickly, posting on social sites and personal blogs. A particularly poignant essay from a Canadian woman whose brother had been killed by Kira became a popular talking-point, particularly the final sentence: “For someone else’s brother.”

Light sat in the dining room of his and L’s house, reading his email while noshing on a smoked salmon fillet. He’d created a new address under his real name, which had been publicized just after his broadcast yesterday, and there were already hundreds of emails in his inbox. Fortunately for his sanity, most of them weren’t cases. Actually, all the ones he’d read so far were messages from people who had been touched by his speech enough to write to him about it. He’d replied to some of them, but didn’t have near enough time to reply to them all. It seemed to be alright, though. Most of them didn’t seem to expect it.

He paged from one email to the next, starting to read it when he was startled by the sender’s address.  _ Is it really- _

Light felt a weight on his shoulder then, as L’s chin dug gently into his collarbone. “It seems that Misa-san has sent you a message,” his low voice hummed beside Light’s ear. He sounded as confused as Light felt. “She wants to meet.”

Light read the message for himself; L was right. The email was short, containing only a generic statement about having  _ things to say _ and requesting for Light to set up a meeting time and place. 

A pang of guilt seized Light’s chest as he recalled how the two of them had parted ways, but it dissipated quickly: he had done the right thing, even if it had been painful for them both at the time. But the memory only heightened his confusion. Her parting words had been,  _ I never want to see you again _ . Why had she changed her mind?

“Can you think of any reason I shouldn’t meet her, Lawliet?” Light asked, still staring at the message.

He hummed in a low, drawn-out monotone as his thin fingers curled around Light’s shoulder. “Nothing  _ obvious _ ,” he said, “although I can set a five-minute timer if you like.”

Light was about to ask him to not bother, but he paused. Misa was impulsive and short-sighted, certainly, but she was also smart. She’d found Light’s true identity within a single day, gotten Higuchi to confess to being Kira during one car ride, and not to mention, seduced two separate shinigami. Just because he’d had an easy time manipulating her in the past didn’t mean that she wasn’t a threat.

“Yes, please,” Light said. “Let’s both think about it, and if we can’t come up with any good reasons I shouldn’t, then I’ll email her back.”

L nodded and stood up; accompanied by clicks and soft beeping sounds. “We’ll be finished at 12:47.”

Light picked up another bite of salmon, and chewed it slowly. Realizing he would be more productive if he voiced his thoughts: “It seems to me that our main concern is whether or not Misa has regained her memories. If she has, that means she has access to a death note.”

“Mhm.” L sat back down beside Light and picked up the plate he’d cleared a minute ago. He licked a stripe down the center, getting a few stray crumbs. “We know that even if she did have a notebook, she can’t possibly want  _ you _ dead, but she could very well want to blackmail you by holding others’ deaths over your head. Your family’s, maybe. All we have to go on is this email, so is it more likely that she sends you something like this if she has her memories, and therefore a notebook, or if she doesn’t?”

Light paused, ran his fingers through his bangs. He pointedly ignored the jolt of fear that came from the idea of Misa threatening his family.  _ Just think about the problem.  _ After a few seconds, he said, “It seems more likely that she remembers. After she relinquished ownership of her death note to me, the last thing she said was ‘I never want to see you again, you jerk’. If that was her only memory, then she would remember that I broke up with her after months of manipulating her feelings. I suppose there’s an argument that she would want to get in contact with  _ Kira _ , because of her history with him, but she’s already said that she cares more about me than she does about Kira. You asked her who she’d pick if she had to choose, remember?”

“I remember.”

“But if she  _ has  _ her memories, she’ll know that I broke up with her because I realized I’d been a terrible person to her, and she deserved better. I think remembering that context would be enough to make her change her mind about ‘never wanting to see me again’, too. Considering that, it seems a lot less likely that she’d want to blackmail me… although I’m still not sure what she might want to talk about.”

L’s brows furrowed in frustration. “I have a piece of information that I know is relevant, but  _ how _ is eluding me.” He licked his plate again. “While in England, I - well actually, M - noticed Misa had declined to comment on the conspiracy. It seemed odd, because she had been such a vocal supporter of Kira in the past. If she had the slightest suspicion you might be alive, I would think she would pounce on the opportunity to say so.”

Light finished the last bite of his fish, and rested his elbows on the table, setting his chin between his palms. “That seems like the sort of thing she would do if she was trying to make things easier on me. She might think that bringing up the conspiracy using her public persona would call too much attention. So… I think it’s pretty clear that she has her memories back, but that she won’t cause any trouble for either of us.”

“Yes, I’ll agree.” He checked his phone again. “Solved, just on time. Would you like some cake, Light?”

“You say that as if it’s a reward for solving the problem.”

L stood and kissed the top of Light’s head as he walked out of the room. “What if it is?”

Light smiled as he picked up both of their dinner plates and followed L into the kitchen. He stared out the window as he washed off their dishes: it was a warmer day outside today, and the sun glimmered on the melting snow. 

“What size piece do you want?” As Light turned around to look, he gestured at the cake with the knife. “It’s chocolate.”

“Hm, about this wide?” he held out two fingers, three inches apart. 

“Okay,” L said, and cut him a piece that was definitely four inches wide. 

Light just snickered as he grabbed new plates and forks for them both, and let L serve him the cake. “Is there any reason not to tell her to come here?”

L shrugged and cut a large piece for himself. “Just to be cautious, let’s not. You, me, your father, and Watari are the only ones who know this house is ours, and I’d like to keep it that way. No, let’s take the helicopter into Tokyo. We’ll meet her at the Park Hyatt; I’ll get us a suite for the day.”

Light’s eyes widened at the name of the fanciest and most expensive hotel in Tokyo. But of course L could afford it, he’d built himself a bloody skyscraper. Light shook his head. “Just how rich  _ are  _ you, anyway?”

L glanced over as he took a bite of his cake, savoring the taste. “Mmm… do you want the publicly-available answer or the real one?”

“Both?” Light hadn’t really been expecting a straight answer to his flippant question, but he  _ was _ curious. He took a bite of his own cake then, too, and hummed pleasantly as the soft dark chocolate melted in his mouth.

L took out his mobile and began tapping at it. “Well, according to public record, L has a net worth of about $12 billion. It’s a lot, but not nearly enough to get me on any ‘richest people on the planet’ lists, which is on purpose. In reality, between all my aliases, the number is closer to $48 billion, which makes me the…” he skimmed something on his phone, “fourth richest person on the planet right now.” He said the words ‘fourth richest person on the planet’ like he was telling Light a mildly interesting fact about octopi.

Light just gaped at him. Throwing one hand up in exasperation, as the other was still holding his cake, he exclaimed, “Well then! Forgive me for thinking the Park Hyatt was  _ expensive _ ! Ten thousand dollars for one night must be  _ pocket change _ !”

L frowned, clicking his mobile shut. “It  _ is  _ expensive, Light. But I can afford it, and I thought a show of generosity might help smooth things over with Misa-san. There is also a rather convenient landing pad on the roof for my helicopter.” L paced back into the dining room as Light followed behind. “Does it bother you?”

Light sat back at his spot beside L and shut his laptop. “I suppose not... I was just surprised. You’ve bought expensive things for silly reasons before, but they were for  _ you _ . This house, your helicopter, the bloody skyscraper… I might have gotten some benefit from those things, but they were yours. This is… you wouldn’t be doing this except for me. And I guess that threw me a little bit. Sorry.” He took another bite of his cake.

When L didn’t reply for a second, Light looked over at him, only to see what he could only describe as a  _ sinister _ grin. 

Light’s tone was deadpan. “What are you smiling at.”

“If Light is insecure about me buying an expensive hotel for a day, perhaps I should buy him expensive presents often, until he is no longer surprised by it.” He held a finger to his lips. “Call it  _ exposure therapy. _ ”

Light brought his hands over his face, but he was cackling into his palms. “Lawliet…”

“Yes, Light?” His tone was as soft and sweet as the chocolate cake.

“You’re an idiot. I love you.” He let his hands slide down his face, grinning at L. 

“I  _ am  _ an idiot,” L said, still grinning ear-to-ear. He reached over and poked Light’s shoulder. “But I’m  _ your _ idiot now, so you’re stuck with me.”

Light laughed. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He opened his computer then, and wrote Misa back with one hand while he ate more cake with the other. He was a bit surprised when he received a reply within a minute; she must have her email notification sound turned up. “You can book that reservation now, Lawliet. She says she’ll be available from noon onwards tomorrow.”

L swiped Light’s laptop from him to make the reservation. “Excellent.”

* * *

The next morning, after they’d each packed a small overnight bag, L received a text from Watari informing him that he’d arrived in the helicopter.

“Come on,” L said, taking Light’s hand and leading him down the stairs. They descended quickly, gripping each other’s hands, each moving a little faster to try to get there sooner than the other, until they were sprinting across the yard, laughing raucously. Watari had parked L’s helicopter in a patch of grass a short ways from the house and its long winding driveway, and its blades spun rapidly, throwing the grass about and beating air at the branches of nearby trees.

Watari himself was already standing just outside the reach of the blades, holding his hat to his chest. He only waved at the two of them as he walked toward the house: there was no point trying to speak over all the noise.

Light waved back, then ducked with L inside the helicopter and buckled himself in. Once they’d shut their doors, it was quiet enough to hear himself speak again. “Ready?”

L nodded in reply and lifted them off the ground gently, pulling them into the sky. 

As they rose up into the air, Light stared out the window. It was true that he’d left the house just like this yesterday, but he had been far too lost in his head to appreciate it. Now, although he was a little nervous, he was much more present. And so he looked out the side window and watched as their beautiful house grew smaller below them, until it was only a pale blue dot in a sea of green.

The helicopter made a smooth arc forward, turning vertical momentum into horizontal, and Light turned away from the window as he saw their home vanish behind a hill. He leaned back in his seat and looked forward, over the rolling and thickly-forested hills toward the pale grey outline of Tokyo’s skyline that crawled towards them from the horizon. It was a warm, sunny day today, and the few clouds scattered across the sky were shining white, the only reminder of the now-melted snow that had covered the ground before. 

Light had been smiling this whole time without even realizing it, and he only noticed now because his cheeks were starting to ache. He really did love flying. The only two airplane flights he had ever been on were some of the most magical experiences of his life, and that was despite the universal terribleness of everything surrounding airports and economy-class seating. Looking out the window as they ascended and seeing the runway, and the whole city, vanish below… it was absolutely breathtaking.

Light looked over in L’s direction, only to see he’d already been staring. “I should take you flying more often.”

Light giggled. Of course his excitement had been written all over his face. “I do love it. Shouldn’t you be looking at the… um, the air in front of you, though?”

L shrugged. “Most of the trouble with flying one of these has to do with keeping the right horizontal rotation. The spinning of the blades is always trying to pull your rotation off, and you need these pedals-” he momentarily lifted one hand off the thick black handle that was tilted up between them to gesture at his feet, “-to control the tail rotor and keep that from happening. But I can do that based on the kinesthetics. In open air like this, I don’t really have to look where I’m going too much.”

“If you say so, Lawliet.”  _ Hm, now that reminds me… _ “Hey, what would you want me to call you when we talk with Misa-san?” 

“Just L. You’re right that I’d prefer she not know my surname, even if she isn’t dangerous.”

“Okay,” Light nodded. “I can do that.”

* * *

When they came to the door of the suite, L held it open for Light. The amber lighting spread across warm white walls, making the spacious entryway feel cozy. On the left side of the foyer, two beige-upholstered armchairs bordered a black end-table that reflected the lamplight perfectly in its mirrored surface; on the right, a massive television hung above a mantelpiece. At the room’s end, an open door led into an even larger space.

Light slipped off his shoes and walked through the foyer slowly, admiring everything. When he came to the door at the end, he stopped walking entirely.

“There’s a piano here?” he breathed. The concert grand stood in the corner, propped lid facing the room for the best acoustics. Its surface was glossy black like the end-table in the foyer, with tasteful gold accents. 

“I thought you might like that,” L said, tucking his chin over Light’s shoulder as he curled his fingers around Light’s hips. “Do you play?”

“I haven’t in months, but I used to practice often. Oh wow, L… Can I play for you?”

L nuzzled his cheek against Light’s shoulder, then let him go. “Of course.”

Light quickly made his way around the back of the piano, sliding onto the cushioned bench. “I’m a little rusty. Let’s see if I remember how to play this,” he mumbled to himself. He looked at the keys, frowning, trying to remember which octave it had started at. Was it A3 or A4? He could test them out… but instead, he just shut his eyes. His muscles would remember, even if his mind didn’t.

L curled into a ball on a soft beige couch across the room, staring at Light. His fingers reached for the keys with a perfect confidence, and he nodded his head slightly with the lilt of the music as he played a familiar ten-note melody.  _ A River Flows in You. _ He played it once more, again letting the sound diminuendo into nothingness and stay that way for a few seconds. And then, his thumb dipped down an octave and rolled up the chord, and his fingers began to fly.

Light could feel his face heating from the surprising exertion, though whether it came from the audience, the physical movements, or the intensity of the music itself, he couldn’t be sure. He  _ loved _ this song, he always had, from the very moment he first heard it. It was sad, beautiful, motivational, and inspirational, all at the same time. Actually, he adored it so much that he’d composed his own version. This was the one he played now, for L, because he knew it even better than Yiruma’s original.

L felt his chest tightening as Light’s music pulled through him; he bit the knuckle of his index finger and continued to stare. Light was breathing harder, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he rocked back and forth, just like L was in his chair, in time with the building octaves. They filled the air with a buzzing intensity as the waves of sound crashed against the walls. And then, slowly, they came down off the high, and nearly all sound ceased.

Light found himself relaxing a bit with the short pause, catching his breath. When he returned to the keys again, his hands moved more easily than before. A smile played at his lips as he transposed the melody up an octave, letting it float up in the higher register for a little while before his left hand reached all the way across the keyboard and slammed a low octave, pulling it down again. His hands almost vibrated against the keys as the chords grew faster, shoulders straining against the absurd jumps he was making with his left hand, the arpeggios he was running up and down with his right. He could feel the sound in his bones now, more powerful than any bass drum, and he nearly started laughing. 

L stood up, swayed across the room in a daze to sit on the floor beside the piano’s open lid. He wanted Light’s music to soak into his skin, to make its home in his mind so that he would never have to forget it. He sat there cross-legged, rocking on the floor, one hand in his mouth and the other tapping onto the soft carpet with the tempo of the song.

The descent off this final climax was slower, and it tapered off with a return to the original key and some simple variations on the main melody. Light nodded gently along with his expressive articulation, drawing each note out before playing the next. And then, with a final quiet chord, he lifted his hands, and opened his eyes.

From the floor just beside the piano, L stared up at Light with wide eyes, still rocking himself. “That was amazing,” he said, breath taken. 

Light’s voice and movements were cautious as he stood up and went over to kneel before him. “You’re rocking like that because you’re happy, right?”

L nodded vigorously, still staring expressionless, like he was so shocked he’d forgotten to emote. Eventually he blinked, and then at last remembered to smile. “You are amazing.” A little chuckle. “If that’s  _ a little rusty _ , I don’t know if I could handle what it would sound like if you had actually been practicing.”

Light shrugged. There were definitely things he could improve about that performance - he’d nearly fudged a few keys during those quick arpeggios, and his articulation could use some work - but he was glad L had liked it anyway. “If it makes you happy, I could take it up again.” 

“If it makes  _ you _ happy, I would love that. I can buy you a nice piano like this one, and have it brought to our house. That’ll be the first of your expensive gifts.”

Light smiled, and stood. He looked L over again. He was still rocking gently on the floor, feet pressing against the carpet, and his fingers were twitching where he held them against his knees. “Can I carry you to the couch?”

L gave a single, muted, slow nod:  _ sure, I guess? _

Light scooped him up in his arms then, and carried him over. For how strong he was, L managed to still be very light, so it wasn’t difficult. Light sat down on the couch, letting L straddle his lap. When L was sitting on his knees, with arms pulled around his shoulders, Light pressed his toes into the carpet, slowly lifting his heels off the ground. Up, and back down.

“Light,” L mumbled in his ear, with that low voice that made Light shiver, “what are you doing?”

“I can stop if you like. I just thought I could try rocking you myself.”

L kissed Light’s neck sweetly, then leaned down to rest his forehead against his shoulder, nodding. “I like it. Thank you.”

* * *

They sat there for a few more minutes before a quick knock came from the entrance, which forced L to get off Light’s lap. Light followed him back through the foyer to the front door, standing just behind him as he opened it.

Misa stood there with her hands clasped behind her back, leaning to one side as she tapped the toe of her high-heeled platform boot on the floor. She seemed surprised that it was L who opened the door, but she spotted Light standing behind him and waved. She smoothed her hand across her black-and-red tulle skirt. “Good afternoon, Light-san. Or, would you prefer Yagami-san? Sorry I didn’t ask. And it’s… Ryuga? Or Ryuzaki?”

Light was quiet with surprise. This really didn’t seem like Misa at all, did it? The Misa that Light knew would have pounced on him as soon as he came into view, probably hugged L too for the hell of it, and definitely not called him -san. But then again, how much did Light resemble who  _ he’d  _ been eight months ago? “Light-san is fine, thanks. Please, come in.”

“Thank you very much,” she replied. She shrugged off a black leather jacket, revealing the skirt was actually the lower half of a black corset dress with red ruffles and lacing. “Do you have somewhere I should hang my coat?”

Light was about to shrug when L replied for him. “Hand it to me, Misa-san, I’ll hang it up in the closet.” He took it from her with a nod, and added “By the way, you can just call me L,” as he walked away.

“Okay, L,” Misa called after him, seeming a little bit embarrassed as she fell into step behind Light as he started back toward the living room. “Um, Light-san? Lead the way?”

Light nodded, continuing ahead of her. He sat on the couch, and she took the right of two armchairs across from him. She glanced around the room, pointedly not meeting his eyes, as he stared out the window behind her at the - frankly beautiful - view of the Tokyo skyline. Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait in awkward silence for too long, because L returned and sat beside Light.

Misa looked up then, glancing between them. “I… suppose you’re wondering why I contacted you.” She pressed one hand to her lap, lifted the other and snapped twice.

Light raised an eyebrow at her, but then he felt an odd sensation on the back of his hand, like someone had briefly touched a piece of paper there. And then he blinked, and slammed back against the couch hard enough to nearly topple it backwards.

A gigantic, hulking figure of white and purple, bones and dreadlock-like tentacles, with a bat’s wings protruding from its unnaturally-angled spine, now stood beside Misa.

“...Rem…” L muttered as he stared up at her. Apparently the same had just happened to him.

An odd, alien smile tugged the corner of the shinigami’s lip. She said, “Hello, L.”

_ We were right, _ Light thought, blinking, trying to compose himself. He coughed. “Well. This explains a lot.”

Misa lifted one eyebrow quizzically. “Explains a lot of what?”

“Given your… last conversation with Light-kun,” L explained, “we wondered why you would reach out. We came to the conclusion you had somehow gotten your memories back.”

“Oh, yes. That was Rem’s doing, actually.” She looked up with a smile that was… loving? It was almost the smile she used to give Light, but all the possessiveness had been replaced by calm sincerity. “Thank you, by the way.”

The shinigami’s smile was the same. “You’re very welcome, Misa.” It sounded like she’d said these words a million times before.

Misa looked back to L, folding her arms and tucking her ankles a bit closer to the chair. “Um, actually that’s something I want to ask about… You already know that I was… and if you didn’t I guess Light-san would have told you… So are you planning to, um...”

L rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know you were the second Kira. No, I am not pressing charges related to that.” He tipped his head casually against Light’s shoulder. “One of the pieces of information I allowed INTERPOL to have regarding Kira is that his power allowed him some limited degree of control over others. I told them that while it was true you were the second Kira, this was only due to the original’s power over you.”

With a self-effacing shrug, Light added, “Which isn’t far from the truth, if we’re being honest.” It wasn’t the death note that had let him control Misa’s actions, just his ordinary human powers of deception and manipulation, but it was still true that she hadn’t been in control of much, back then.

Misa looked down at the carpet between them, a smile coming to her lips slowly. Then her head lifted again, and she grinned in earnest. “You’re right,” she said. A short giggle. “Anyway, that isn’t what I came here to ask about, it just popped into my mind and then I needed to know. Uh, is there anything else you two geniuses figured out, before I try to explain?”

“Not really,” Light replied. He gestured to her with an upturned palm. “Go ahead, the floor is yours.”

“Okay.” Misa’s stare intensified, becoming a level glare that bore into Light. “I came to apologize. I didn’t think through some important things, and I made your life a lot harder.” 

Light frowned.  _ How? _ he thought.  _ She couldn’t have instigated the conspiracy... _

“On the same day that you…” The confident tone slipped, and her stare faltered. “That you, um…”

Light’s gaze leveled at her, his voice low and monotonous. “That I tried to kill myself.” It was hard for him to say it, too, but there was no point in beating around the bush.

“Y-yeah. That. Um.” She coughed quietly, looking back at him. “I made a post on Reddit. I’d spent way too long staring at the pictures that were released to the public, because I just couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t… I mean, I didn’t think you would…” she shook her head. “Anyway, I saw… a shadow. Just in the corner of the frame. Anybody else would have thought it was nothing, but I met L and I know what his hair looks like. I could say exactly what was happening, even if I couldn’t explain  _ why  _ I knew it. At least, not without giving away who I am.” Under her breath, “I’m glad I didn’t do that, that would have been  _ really _ stupid.”

She fidgeted with her hands, lacing and unlacing her fingers in different patterns but not seeming satisfied with any of them. “If it hadn’t been for me, probably nobody would have focused on the photos, or anything else about it, and none of this would have happened. You wouldn’t have had to make that speech, Light-san. Don’t get me wrong! It was an amazing speech! I’m just saying… it seemed like it was hard on you. And... I’m sorry, about that.”

She tipped her head aside and lifted her palms up without moving her shoulders. “I did come to my senses after a bit, but it was only after most of the damage was already done. All I could do was not say anything as  _ Misa-Misa _ ,” she said her stage name an artificially chipper tone, like she did at her shows. “Saying it as some rando on the internet was bad enough.”

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, then pulled her hand away and let it unwind. “Anyway, yeah. That’s what I wanted to say. I’m sorry for making your life harder.” She bowed in her chair. 

_ It’s okay, Misa, _ Light thought. He was going to say it, but the words wouldn’t come out. If he said that, he would just be placating her, manipulating her, the same way he’d done before. So instead, he said “Thank you. I appreciate your coming here to say that.”

She sat back up, and leveled a determined stare directly at Light. “I also wanted to offer my services to you.”

_ Your what? _ Light flushed despite himself, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Misa-san, I appreciate it, but I-”

Misa stiffened abruptly as she realized what he was thinking, and then she burst into a loud laughing fit. “Oh, Light-san! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean like  _ that _ !” She looked up at the ceiling and wiped her eyes with the tips of her fingers, careful not to smudge her makeup. When she looked back at him, she was grinning. “I’m a successful model and actress. I have a large following on social media. I was going to offer to  _ support you on my platform _ .”

Light blinked at her.  _ Oh. _ That was actually… both kind and very smart. He’d been relying on the strength of his own words to guide the reactions of the public, and it had mostly worked so far, but a lot of people, many of them important - the Japanese government being a critical example - had yet to make any comment on the situation. Misa’s endorsement of him, especially if he could tell her what to say to produce the best outcome, could be the key to tipping the scales in his favor.

L seemed to be thinking the same thing. Speaking around his thumb, he said, “That is a good idea, Misa-san.”

She grinned even wider at that, exclaiming, “Thank you!”

Light was nodding slowly to himself now. “This could really work. Would you give me a day or so to come up with what you should say?”

“A day, definitely, maybe two, but no longer than that. Time is super important for stuff like this.” She tapped her finger on her cheek, eyes upturned in consideration. “Tomorrow at noon is probably too soon, but could we try for the day after at 1pm? I’ve found out the best times for posting on social media, and it’s noon on Monday and Friday, 1pm on Tuesday and Thursday, 11am on Wednesday, and 3pm on Saturday and Sunday. We want to make sure this gets out as quickly as possible.”

“You certainly know a lot about marketing, Misa-san,” L said. “Yes, this could be very useful.” He turned to Light. “And here I was thinking I might have to blackmail some government officials to get you off death row.”

Misa jolted in her chair. “L!” she exclaimed, “You wouldn’t have to-”

“He’s kidding, Misa-san,” Light said with a chuckle. He elbowed L in the side. “ _ Aren’t _ you.”

L’s thumb popped out of his mouth at the jab, and he looked up at Light. “Of course, love.”

“ _ Love _ ?” Light and Misa spoke almost simultaneously.

“Ha!” Misa said, raising a fist in triumph, “I win! Rem, you owe me dinner.”

“You were right about what?” Light asked, still dazed.  _ Love? That’s… new. I really like it. _

“You two  _ are _ together! I bet Rem that you would tell us while we were here.” She grinned evilly. “And I was  _ right _ .”

Rem sighed, smiling. “I would have made you dinner anyway, Misa.”

L turned to Light, then. “I heard you exclaiming incredulously as well, Light-kun. If you don’t like such terms of affection I won’t use one again, it  _ was  _ somewhat spur-of-the-moment.”

“No, I…” He could feel his face growing warmer, at least partially from trying to  _ hide  _ the blush. He didn’t want to hide from L, and he had very little practice of late, but  _ damn it, this is embarrassing _ … Light sighed. “I like it. It just surprised me, that’s all.”

“I see. Well that’s good then.” He leaned on Light’s shoulder and popped his thumb back in his mouth.

Light cleared his throat, ignoring Misa’s gloating smile, and tried to get the conversation back on track. “Misa-san, you mentioned tomorrow at noon would be a good time. I think I could have a script finished by then. I could use your input, though, to make sure it sounds like something you’d say.”

“Oh, sure! I’d be happy to help!” She blinked as he broke her out of her sappy romantic reverie. 

“I’m aware you said Rem owed you dinner, but would you two take a rain-check so L and I can buy you some food? We have this suite until tomorrow at 11am, so we can work together and get this finished ASAP.” Light looked up at the shinigami, who had settled into a much more relaxed posture than Light had ever seen from her. “Rem? Do you have any preferences for human food?”

“I have recently discovered I rather enjoy hard candies and ice cream.” 

“I think that can be arranged.” Light traced his fingers over L’s thigh, “L, what restaurants would you recommend around here?”

He laid his hand across Light’s, holding it gently. “You probably know Tokyo better than I do, Light-kun, but I’m sure we can find something.”

* * *

The four of them spent the next several hours hanging around the suite, eating dinner from a nice udon place Light recommended and dessert from a bakery L knew about, trading ideas about how to best go about announcing Misa-Misa’s support of Kira. By 9:30, they had a well-worked script that Misa had rehearsed several times.

When Misa finished her most recent rendition, Light looked between everyone and asked, “I think this is good enough, don’t you?” They were sitting around the dining table now, though Rem (being so tall) was sitting on the floor instead of in a chair. Empty and partially-empty plates, as well as papers and electronics, were strewn across the glossy table surface.

“I agree,” L said. A pleased smirk played one corner of his lip as his finger pulled at the other.

Rem lifted one clawed hand and nodded her assent.

“Wow, Light-san,” Misa said as she checked the time and saw how early it still was. “You’re really fast! I couldn’t make this thing any better if I tried, but it only took you, what, four hours?”

Light chuckled.  _ It only took that long because we kept getting off-topic, and we were eating dinner at the same time. _ “Something like that, yeah. I’m a quick writer.”

“I think everyone is curious,” L scanned the room, then looked over at Light. “How long it took you to write that excellent speech.”

“Oh, well…” He was actually a bit embarrassed at how long he’d spent on it, but he had been determined to make it as good as he possibly could, and it had been through a  _ lot _ of revisions as a result. “In terms of accumulated time, between the writing and editing, I think it took… ten hours?”

“Light-kun is very impressive,” L said, grinning. “Do you know I assigned it only a 55% probability that it was even possible? And you say it took only ten hours.”

Light was laughing now, tipping his chin up as he leaned back in his chair. “I guess I’m just that good, L.”

“You really are!” Misa was beaming and nearly vibrating in her chair with excitement. “Oh, I’m going to have so much fun recording this tomorrow! I need to get back to my studio to do it properly, but I wish I could start right now!”

“Are you sure you couldn’t record it on your phone camera?” Light suggested. Even though they would need to wait until the best time to post it, Misa had rehearsed it so many times that she had memorized it by now. The slight inflections of her voice were perfect. “That’s something celebrities do when they want to be candid, right?”

“Selfie-style videos are best for casual things. Actually putting this together in a studio will make it seem more important, because I spent more time on it.” She lifted a finger out in front of her. “It’s the same reason we always get made up to do interviews, because putting in that time before you meet with the person shows you care about them, and their audience!” A final nod was followed by the quick unwrapping of a candy. “Want one, Rem?”

The shinigami nodded and held out a single finger, letting Misa place the confection on its tip. She popped it into her mouth with an approving smile.

Light was continually impressed by Misa’s marketing expertise, which he’d never had much of a chance to focus on back when he… back then. Having access to such expertise now wasn’t the sort of thing he had considered or planned on, but it was an excellent boon.

Still, they’d done everything they could tonight. “Misa, Rem, I don’t want to keep you too late,” Light said, pushing his chair back to stand. “I believe you have everything you need to proceed?”

“Yupsies!” Misa jumped out of her chair as well, spinning on her heel and falling back dramatically into Rem’s arms.

Rem rolled her eyes, but caught her anyway, and when she stood she carried Misa with her.

_ What’s with all the couples carrying each other today? _ Light wondered idly. He gestured to the array of candies still strewn across the table.“You’re welcome to take as many of these as you want, L and I can always buy more.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” Misa said from her seemingly comfortable spot in the arms of her death god. “We’ve got plenty of sweets at home.”

“You are correct that we should be going,” Rem said. And there was something just slightly apologetic in the way she looked at Light, although she didn’t say anything.

Light nodded and started to escort them to the door, glancing back at L with a look that said,  _ you don’t have to get up if you don’t want to _ . 

L gave him a smile that said,  _ thank you, I have decided I don’t feel like moving. _

As they walked through the foyer, Light turned to the pair. “In all seriousness,” he said, “I wanted to thank you, Misa-san, for everything you’re doing for me. It must have been hard to come here, to say what you said. I really appreciate it.”

She craned her head a little to look at him from her pose in Rem’s arms, and smiled fondly. “You really have changed, Light-san.”

“I could say the same for you,” he replied, glancing meaningfully between the two of them, and the position they were in, as they stopped before the door. 

Misa giggled, threw her arms around Rem’s broad shoulders. “Being in love does that to you, doesn’t it?”

He didn’t really want to ruin the cute moment, but he didn’t think that was exactly right. “Well, I wouldn’t say it’s being in love  _ exactly _ . I would say it’s more about supporting someone else and having them support you in return. You can be in love with someone without having that,” he glanced briefly at Rem, “and you can also have that without being in love with the other person.”

“I understand what Misa is saying, Light Yagami,” Rem said as she set Misa down gently. “You most certainly have changed. In my opinion, for the better.” And she gave him the closest thing to a smile that he was ever likely to get from her.

Now that was a shinigami whose opinion of him Light was alright with caring about. 

“Thank you, Rem,” he said with genuine gratitude. He turned briskly, saying over his shoulder, “Let me get your jacket, Misa-san. I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, thank you!” Misa called after him as he fetched the genuine leather from its hanger, folding it over his arm to bring it back.

“Absolutely, I didn’t want you to freeze. It’s a cold night outside.” He handed it to her and bowed cordially, then opened the front door for them.

“You’ll see that video posted on  _ all  _ my socials tomorrow at noon, promise!” Misa grinned, waving as though from a distance even though she was standing two feet from his door.

Light chuckled and nodded. “I’m counting on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The arrangement of "A River Flows in You" that Light plays is a riff off [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDS5GnTfUvc).
> 
> The floor plan of the suite L and Light are staying in is [here](https://www.hyatt.com/content/dam/hotel/propertysites/assets/park/tyoph/documents/en_us/rooms-and-suites/TYOPHGOVEFloorPlan.pdf).


	31. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See the flames inside my eyes  
> It burns so bright, I wanna feel your love  
> No, easy baby, maybe I’m a light  
> But for tonight, I wanna fall in love  
> And put your faith in my stomach
> 
> And oh, I know I’ve only caused you pain  
> You know, all of my words  
> Were always beloved  
> Of all the lies I spoke  
> When you’re my road walking me home
> 
> Now, now, for how long, long I've loved my lover  
> And I feel loved  
> Now, now, for how long, long I've loved my lover  
> Feel it all over, now
> 
> \- Ed Sheeran: “I’m a Mess”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I listened to the song in the summary above, and only that song, on endless repeat, while writing this chapter. If you like to listen to music while reading for the atmosphere, I especially recommend this song!
> 
> \---
> 
> WARNING: this chapter is the sex one, guys. It contains:  
> \- detailed descriptions of oral and anal sex   
> \- mild D/s dynamics   
> \- mild restraint (being held down on a bed)  
> Enthusiastic consent is given for each thing, individually.
> 
> This chapter isn't written this way because the author felt like writing porn. The sex does actually impact the plot and is relevant to the characters' arcs. That being said, it's not *that* critical, so if you want to skip it, go ahead. 
> 
> \---
> 
> Oh, and: happy birthday, Light <3

When Light reentered the main living room, L had moved from the dining room table to the couch. A lollipop stick hung loosely from his lips as he stared across the room and out the window, tapping his fingers against his knees. The pattern looked like it was trying to imitate Light’s playing from earlier that day.

Light let out a contented sigh as he fell back against the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Today has been a good day, don’t you think, Lawliet?”

L nodded, though his eyes didn’t pause in their scanning of the horizon. 

Light looked out the window with him. Tokyo was really beautiful at night, with multicolored lights splayed out in all directions like a photograph of a firework show. No matter how late it got, the city lights would never go out: people would be moving about the city through all hours. The only thing Light could possibly find fault with about this scene was that all the light pollution made it impossible to see the stars.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” L said. His voice was quiet and longing. 

“It is,” Light agreed. He glanced over at L, admiring the cracked and candy-stained lips he wrapped around the pad of his finger after he’d set aside the lollipop stick, his harshly-angled jawline, and his deep, distant grey eyes.  _ And so are you. _

L looked over at him, smiling when he noticed Light was staring at him, knowing exactly why. He reached over to run his fingers through Light’s bangs, straightening what didn’t need it, but then looked back at the window. He stared for a little longer, then stood from his crouch and leapt over the coffee table, walking quickly across the room to lean against the window.

Light stood and followed him over, impressed but not surprised at L’s ability to leap great distances into the air at the drop of a dime. “Lawliet, what’re you up to?” he asked, resting his hand on L’s shoulder once he stood beside him.

Fingers pressed against the glass, face held just barely far away enough to keep from fogging it with his breath, L said, “I was born in Japan, but I don’t remember it at all. My parents moved to England with me before I was old enough to attend school. When I returned for the Kira case, that was my first time living here since I was a toddler.” He removed one hand from the glass to slide it around Light’s waist, pulling him closer. “And even though I worked in this city for months, and stared out through many windows like these, I was so deep in thought I hardly noticed. So, it feels to me… like this is the first time I’ve seen it.”

Light looked out the window again now, trying to see what L saw. His eyes scanned across the buildings and skyscrapers, streetlights and headlights. And, gradually, he began to realize. He’d been to this city many times before, but he’d almost always seen it from ground level, during the day. This was a very different perspective, being so far away from it all, high up in this isolated bubble with L… it was much more breathtaking. His words came out oddly wistful: “I know what you mean.”

“Light,” L said suddenly, startling him from his trance. “May I kiss you?”

A tingling warmth spread through Light’s chest. “Of course.” 

L straightened his terrible posture as he cupped Light’s face in his hands, drawing him in until their lips met. “You know,” his words were muffled against Light’s mouth, “I am absolutely addicted to your kiss.”

“I don’t see why,” Light mumbled back, pressing in to kiss him deeper, “you’re the one who always tastes like sweets.” He reached up to grab L’s wrists, gently at first, then more firmly as he pulled them upward. He shoved him backward until his back thudded dully against the window pane, pinning him there as his tongue slid into L’s open mouth.

L moaned into their kiss, leaning back against the window. It was not a quiet sound, but L had never been the type of person to stifle anything about himself, for any reason. And besides, the walls were soundproofed. They had to be; there was a grand piano in here.

Light could feel his rapid pulse through his fingertips as he spread them to encircle L’s wrists with one hand, trailing the other down his body. The heat that had warmed his chest was slipping down, pooling low in his gut as he traced his fingers across L’s chest, his stomach, his hips. 

This wasn’t the first time he’d felt like this,  _ wanted _ L like this, but it was the first time he was comfortable enough to even consider  _ doing _ anything about it. His life had been such a disaster, for so long… but now things were really, finally, working out. He might be able to live a normal life, or at least the closest thing Light was ever going to get.

Still, he needed to make sure… “Lawliet,” Light breathed into the paltry space he’d managed to create between them, his eyes still shut. How could he  _ possibly  _ ask for this? “Do you...”

“You’re going to ask,” L interrupted, his voice low and laden with desire, “if I want you to continue. And,” he panted out a breath, “the answer is yes.”

Light looked up at him now, saw the dark half-lidded eyes that stared at him with such intensity. He swallowed against the dryness brought on by L’s crimson blush and kiss-swollen lips, then slammed him back against the glass, stepping closer and pressing his whole body against L. He wanted the man to  _ feel  _ everything he was doing to him.

L gasped against Light’s mouth, arching back and grinding his hips against Light’s. “I…” he cut himself off with a whine as Light turned to lick and suck at his neck. “Oh fuck, Light…”

Light smirked against L’s collarbone. It was so satisfying to hear L swear; he’d never heard it before. With his free hand, he lifted L’s shirt up, and he leaned down just far enough to lick across his chest.

“Light, let me… let me take off my shirt…” Desperation was edging into his voice as his wrists moved against Light’s fingers, not enough to push him away, just to ask if he could.

“I’ll do you one better,” Light said, pressing L’s wrists back one more time before he let go, as a request to hold them there. As soon as he had both hands to work with, he yanked L’s shirt over his head and tossed it aside. He gripped L’s hips harshly as he leaned down to mouth at one rosy nipple. 

“Light…” L’s knuckles made a low, hollow thud against the window as he struggled to keep his arms up. And oh, how Kira would have relished in that, hearing L say his name like a prayer. But Light only sighed contentedly, and continued lapping at L’s chest, glad he was able to make L feel like this. 

As he made his way lower, kneeling on the carpet at L’s feet now, Light looked up through a fringe of bangs and watched L’s need-darkened eyes as Light reached for the waistband of his jeans. “Let me take these off for you.” Light’s hands were trembling from the electric excitement that threaded through his veins, but he managed enough dexterity to pop the button and pull down the fly. 

L’s chest was heaving as he held his shaking arms above his head, fingers twitching wildly as he kept his wrists pressed against the cold glass right where Light had left them. He was visibly struggling against a compulsion to take over, but at least for now, his conscious control was overpowering the years of habit.

Light was still staring up at L hungrily as he yanked off his jeans, fingers toying with the waistband of his boxers, nonverbally asking for permission. L nodded eagerly, and in case that wasn’t already clear enough, he sputtered out, “please.”

Light was throbbing in his too-tight pants as he slowly nudged L’s underwear down, drinking in the sight of his hard cock straining against the fabric until he finally let him free. A clear drop of precum dripped down the head, and Light leaned in immediately to lap it up, savoring the surprisingly sweet taste. If he were a bit less dazed by his own need, the moan that he’d elicited from L might have made him smirk.

Light stood from the floor and grabbed L’s wrists, guiding his hands to his chest. L understood the request perfectly. Relieved to finally have something to do with his hands, he made quick work of undoing the buttons on Light’s shirt, yanking it free from where it was tucked and sliding it down off his shoulders. “What do you want, Light,” he asked, voice oddly steady. 

“What I always thought I couldn’t have,” Light whispered, watching the top of L’s head as he sunk to his knees and made quick work of Light’s remaining clothes. “You.”

Recognition flashed through L’s eyes, a question becoming an answer. Why had Light never shown interest in this before? Not because he didn’t want it, but because he didn’t think it would ever be a pleasure afforded to him. Kira couldn’t afford real relationships, and so Light couldn’t either.

L shifted closer, scraping his unevenly-bitten nails down the backs of Light’s thighs as he pressed open-mouthed kisses down his hips and stomach. “And what do you want,” he asked, “from me?”

Light breathed a heavy sigh as he twitched into the empty air, balling his fists at his sides to keep from gripping L’s thick hair.  _ For now… _ “I want your mouth on me,” he said, and that wasn’t very specific and technically L had already been doing that but damn it, he would know what that meant. 

L nodded, looking ecstatic to hear Light ask for what he wanted, with an expression between  _ I knew it _ and  _ of course _ . He leaned closer to lick a teasing stripe up the underside of Light’s cock. Then another, one side then the other, before he took the tip into his mouth and sucked.

Light groaned softly at the stimulation; he wanted so much more than the teasing licks L was giving him, but at the same time he was glad L was taking it slow, at first. He’d never had anything like this done to him before, and the feeling was so delicious he was struggling to hold himself together. Even so, he had to: it would be incredibly embarrassing to come the veritable instant L started sucking him off, even given his brutally short refractory periods.

Still, he leaned forward to brace himself against the window glass, because his knees were already starting to grow weak as he shuddered under L’s tongue. It was so hot, watching that beautiful mouth on his cock, the bright red flush that trailed all the way down to L’s chest telling him that he was enjoying this nearly as much as Light was. 

And there was another reason. L might have been working him slow and shallow to this point, but he’d always been one to go all-out at the first possible opportunity. It would be just like L to-

L suddenly pulled Light’s hips toward him, taking him all the way to the hilt at once, ripping a loud and strangled cry from Light.

_ Somehow _ , by a  _ staggering  _ display of sheer willpower, Light managed to  _ not _ come right then, but  _ god _ was he close. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers hard enough against the glass that he was sure the tips were turning white. Between ragged pants he said, “Off… please… now… slowly.”

L did as asked, and his tone was saccharine as he said, “What is it, love?”

His breath started to steady as the sharp need receded, and he opened his eyes again, growling down at L, “You know perfectly well  _ what _ . I  _ knew  _ you’d do something like that.”

“Ah, well,” L shrugged, still smiling, “you always could see through my strategies. I suppose I’m not getting anything past you, not even in this state.”

Light pushed himself off the window, stumbling only slightly as he knelt down to sit on the floor with L. He chuckled as he ran his thumb over L’s lower lip. “Being horny doesn’t keep me from thinking, it just makes it harder to articulate.” He glanced down, licking his lips sensuously at the sight of L’s erection standing near-vertical between his crossed legs, with fingers wrapped loosely around the base. Light shifted onto his knees, leaning toward L, “Your turn.”

“You don’t want me to- mmm…” his words were cut off by Light’s mouth on his.

Light shook his head as he nipped a line of kisses down L’s body, smiling approvingly as L spread his legs to let him settle between them. “You are  _ very  _ good at that,” he murmured against L’s taut stomach,  _ and god, is that the understatement of the century, _ “but no.” 

He started with much the same thing L had just done to him, at first, licking up the sides of his cock and suckling on the head, then starting to bob down and swallow more of him. It was a foreign feeling, having something so big in his mouth, but the taste was as delicious as the moans his movements elicited. He wasn’t actually planning on doing the same thing L had just done to him, but that wouldn’t stop him from using that tension L had created to slowly drive him mad.

“Can you guess, Lawliet,” Light pulled off, reaching over to stroke him while he spoke, “what I really want from you?” He leaned down again, this time nibbling at the soft skin on the insides of L’s thighs. 

L bit the side of his knuckle, needing the oral stimulation to contrast the intensity of everything else, but he spoke around it, voice mostly steady though his breaths were shaking. “I would… assign a probability… but it would be so high as to be… ah… virtually certain...” He was lifting his free hand to run it through Light’s hair, but Light had other plans, lifting his knees up suddenly and making L fall back onto his elbows. 

Holding L’s thighs to his shoulders and lifting his hips off the floor, Light grinned deviously at that surprised expression. As much innocent curiosity as he could muster went into his voice as he shut his eyes, licking up L’s perineum. “What are you certain about, Lawliet?”

The languid  _ ohhhh _ that fell from L’s lips was muffled by the digits he was cramming between them, but it was still incredibly loud. “You want to…” a low groan as Light didn’t stop or even slow down, pushing the flat of his tongue against him and trailing lower with each lick, “I... want you to…” a hissing inhale as Light grabbed his ass, digging his well-manicured nails into the sensitive flesh. “I… want...”

“Tell me,” Light said. The words were a command but his tone was a plea. L was having trouble getting words out, but it wasn’t just because of what Light was doing. Else he wouldn’t have repeated himself. But Light wasn’t going to say it first.  _ Ask for what you want, _ he thought through the haze of saliva and sweat.  _ Please, ask for it. I need you to want this as much as I do. _

The plaintive tone in Light’s voice gave L pause, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. He made a noise like the beginning of a word, but it quickly dissipated into nothingness, like warm breath into freezing air.

Light had stopped moving, only breathing hard against L as he waited for a reply. L really was steadying himself so much, just to ask for something he obviously wanted. But Light realized, quite belatedly, that this was how it had always been. He didn’t ask Light for a kiss as a favor, but as a request for permission.  _ May I kiss you _ instead of  _ Would you kiss me _ . But Light wouldn’t go along with that, not now. He wasn’t going to pretend he was merely  _ deigning  _ to do this, only for his own pleasure.

Because that’s what Kira would have done. Let someone in only enough to use them for his benefit, then cast them aside when they ceased to be of use. And Light wouldn’t do that to L. Couldn’t do it, couldn’t even pretend to. So he wasn’t going to let L pretend it either. 

“Light…” he swallowed so hard it was audible, panting out another breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was loud with determination: “Fuck me. Please.”

A hot spike of desire shot through Light at those words, at that tone.  _ Yes, that’s it. That’s what I needed to hear you say. _ All at once he set L down, stood up, and grabbed L’s hand out of his mouth to drag him along behind.

L let out a breathy laugh as he gripped Light’s hand and nearly ran alongside him, the two making their impatient way toward the bedroom. The bed was king-sized and Western-style, and L rucked up the perfectly-made sheets as he crawled eagerly across them, turning over at the end and spreading his legs invitingly. 

Light followed him there, slotting his hips between L’s legs and immediately leaning down to devour his mouth in a kiss. Their lips met like the first breath of air after coming up from underwater. “Mm… Is there…” he started to ask, but L replied for him by grabbing a bottle from the nightstand and shoving it against his chest, tugging him back into the kiss.

After L was content he’d had his fill, at least for now, he spoke. “I booked this suite under my account.” He stared expectantly at Light’s hands as he spread a generous amount of lube over his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it. “They’ve provided for all my usual requests.”

_ Usual requests, hm? _ Light stroked L slowly, without much pressure. “Do you make a regular habit of fucking strangers in hotel rooms?” Light knew he didn’t, but he wanted to hear L say what this was really for.

L laughed breathlessly, because he knew Light knew. Only a little hesitation as he said, “I make… a regular habit of fucking  _ myself _ in hotel rooms-  _ Ahh! _ ”

Light grinned at the sound L made when he slipped his first finger inside him, just as much as the words he’d said before that. He knew from just how fucking  _ sensitive _ L was that they were both in the same boat of complete inexperience - no matter how talented L might be with that mouth. “Thought so.”

L was quivering against the bed, an intense and unblinking stare begging Light to move faster. His hands gripped the blankets like he was holding himself back from reaching over to grab Light’s hands and force the issue. But besides the quick huffs of his breath, no sound escaped his lips. 

Light  _ knew _ what L wanted from him, but he wouldn’t do it, even though it required shoving a damper on his own desperation for more. L was not a quiet person, nor someone who was ever unsure what to say. But the ghosts of words that tried to escape before they died on his tongue spoke of fear, of insecurity, of some ridiculous notion that he didn’t deserve to have anything and everything he wanted. 

If L  _ really  _ wanted Light to take control of this, he would need to ask for it.

L tipped his head back and keened in loud frustration as Light slipped a second finger inside him, working him open so slowly. “Light… please…”

“Please what,” Light groaned a low monotone as he reined in the impulse to just throw caution to the wind and pound L into the bed right here and now. “Tell me… what you want… Lawliet.”

Silence. Only an infuriated stare.

“I want to do this for  _ you _ ,” Light pleaded, “to do it  _ all for you _ . I can guess what you want but I need you to tell me. I can’t just  _ take  _ this from you.” The words were just spilling out of him now. “I  _ need _ to give you pleasure. Please, just let me do it. Tell me how you want me.”

L screwed his eyes shut, taking in a shuddering breath. And then, with that intense voice with which he’d made his most passionate declarations, the voice that was sharp like the edge of a knife, he said, “I want you inside me. Right now. As hard and fast as you possibly can.”

The dam that had been holding Light back burst all at once, and he yanked his fingers from L, hoisting his legs onto Light’s shoulders in the same motion. L whined a little at that, but he didn’t get to complain for long, because the next moment Light  _ slammed _ into him, hard enough that he was seeing stars.

“ _ YES! _ ” L screamed at the top of his lungs, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he reached up to claw frantically at Light’s shoulders. “ _ Again! _ ”

Light was completely overwhelmed with the desperate need to fuck the tight, wet heat of L’s body, staring hard at his shaking hands as he clutched at handfuls of blankets. He was going to force himself to pause after that first thrust, to gauge L’s reaction and make sure he wasn’t hurting him, but L’s desperate scream of  _ again _ threw out that entire thought process. He just changed the angle when he pushed back in, searching for that spot that would make L fall apart for him.

It only took him a moment to find it, and the way L clenched around him when he did sent a shudder up his spine. “ _ F-fuck… _ ” he whispered hoarsely, “you feel so  _ good… _ ” He snatched L’s wrists from off his shoulders and pressed them into the pillow above him. He encircled L’s wrists with one hand and reached the other down between them to close his fingers around L’s cock. This unrelenting pace was making it so hard to hold back, and he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to do it, but he wanted L to come first.

L was shaking now, squeezing Light as tightly as he could between his thighs, pushing his wrists up against Light’s grip with all his strength and relieved to find he couldn’t move an inch. With how Light was bearing down on him, it didn’t matter that he was only using one hand. Between gasps for breath he said, “Light… I’m… not… going to last… much longer…”

Light tipped his head down. He could barely speak for how hard he was breathing, but his lips traced the outline of the words “neither am I.” Staring at this gorgeous sight he never thought he would live to see, tasting cherry candy as he drew L’s breath into his mouth, feeling like any little thing might push him over the edge, Light pressed a little harder against L’s wrists as he leaned in close. “Come for me.”

That command was the last thing L needed to come undone completely, and his moan turned into a scream as he shot through Light’s fingers. And the way L’s body spasmed beneath him tore Light’s orgasm right out of him, along with a scream of “ _ L! _ ” 

Light came down off that high very slowly, dazed as he released L’s wrists with stuttering fingers. He searched L’s shocked expression for any trace that he might have hurt him, but at least right away, he wasn’t finding anything. “L…” he said, “Was that…”

“Amazing,” L said, the shock in his eyes melting into awe. A drunken smile spread across his face as he reached up to cup Light’s cheek in his palm. “You are amazing.”

Light leaned into the touch, smiling warmly. “So are you, Lawliet.” His muscles burned as he pulled out slowly, at least  _ trying  _ to minimize the mess, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care about any of it as he flopped onto the bed beside L with an exhausted, contented sigh.

L turned toward him, brushing his sex-mussed bangs from his eyes. “Well,” he said, “I was certainly not expecting  _ that _ to happen when I flew you out here.”

_ Neither was I _ , Light thought, taking L’s hand and kissing his fingertips. “I  _ never _ expected this to happen at all,” he looked down at their lightly-clasped hands, “not with anyone, and  _ especially  _ not with you.”  _ Even though you’re the one I wanted, more than anyone else. _

“If I’m honest, neither did I,” L said, tapping the fingers of his free hand aimlessly against the blankets. “L never let anyone close. He stood alone, on his isolated tower, watching over the world he could never be part of. But then you came along, you walked out through the cold and wind and rain on that lonely roof. Everyone else had been scared by the storm, but you weren’t. You took my hand and took me in, you dried my hair…” smiling fondly in memory, he reached up to tousle his bangs. “...and you quieted the sound of the bells.” Then he shook his head, abandoning the metaphor. “I’ve wanted you a long time, Light. I didn’t know if the world would ever let me have you.”

Light reached out and wrapped his arm around L’s back, pulling him closer. He buried his face in L’s shoulder as tears stung his eyes. “You have me now,” he whispered, “all of me. For as much of forever as you like.”

“All of it,” L pressed a kiss to Light’s sweat-dampened skin. “I want to spend all of forever with you.”


	32. Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can have a friend lose somebody close,  
> and you can be there when they need it most, but  
> you won't be the one having trouble sleeping.
> 
> You'll never really know what it's like  
> until you wake up to some real bad news.  
> You'll never really know how it feels  
> until it happens to you.
> 
> Somebody loses their somebody every day.
> 
> \- Sasha Sloan: “Until it Happens to You”

The warm orange glow of the overhead lights seemed hollow as Sayu shoveled the last, cold bite of her dinner into her mouth. Her mother was washing off her own dishes with the muted pattering of the water into the sink, and Sayu took her empty plate there. On a good day, Sayu would have helped her mom with the dishes, but today was not a good day. The past three days hadn’t been.

“I’m going to go study in my room, Mom,” she said as she walked away, not looking over her shoulder. She could feel her mother’s sympathetic look boring into her back without needing to see it. Unspoken, but understood, was  _ don’t bother me. _

She trudged to the top of the stairs, rounding the corner to go down the hallway. She paused in front of Light’s old room, with the closed door that had been completely undisturbed since… 

Since… 

_ Since he tried to kill himself, _ she forced herself to think. A wave of guilty anger washed over her, its intensity barely dulled by time. It was hard not to feel responsible for what her brother had done. She had been the last person to talk to him, before that. It had to be her words that had pushed his sanity over that edge, broken him.

_ That’s stupid, isn’t it,  _ she thought wryly. _ Everyone blames themselves. _ Her dad hardly came home from work, except sometimes to sleep, and they hadn’t had a real conversation in months. Her mom stayed up until all hours of the night with a pair of headphones plugged into her electric keyboard, playing classical piano pieces like Light used to. Sayu herself had taken to studying - actually studying, not whatever facsimile Light used to do as a cover for committing murder - long hours in her bedroom, alone.

And Light himself…

Sayu hadn’t finished listening to that speech of his. She had seen the beginning of the broadcast when it had aired live, but as soon as she’d heard her brother call himself a monster… she couldn’t take it. She’d shut off the TV and run upstairs to curl into a ball on her bed. 

She still couldn’t bring herself to watch it now, three days afterward, even though she could hardly so much as sit in class without hearing the chatter. Kira is this, Kira did that, it was one thing when she didn’t know who Kira was, but now she did, and whenever she heard that name she just wanted to scream. Her brother deserved to be called something other than  _ killer _ .

On some level, she knew she would have to listen to that speech one day or another. It was like a spirit haunting her, looming over her shoulder on the edge of sight, and it wouldn’t disappear until she confronted it. She didn’t want him to  _ really  _ think that he was a monster, but if he already did, she couldn’t make it untrue by refusing to believe it. Still… there was a big difference between knowing she  _ should _ do something, and actually doing it… 

She stared at Light’s bedroom door.

When she was a child, and she’d had nightmares, she would always come to Light, to sleep with him in his bed. She used to say it was just because he had the comfiest blankets, but really, it was because he was so good at taking her mind off her fears. His words that were rational and logical in one breath, and caring and soothing the next, the way he would lovingly ruffle her bangs and tell her that she was tough, that she’d get through this…

She heaved a sigh. “Oh, screw it,” she said under her breath, and walked over, hand outstretched toward the door handle. 

Under her grip, it turned smoothly, and the latch clicked. The door swung silently open. It was dark, but she reached aside to flip the switch, and the lights flickered on. The bulbs in this room had initially been the same warmish yellow-orange as the rest of the house, but Light had gone through and replaced them with more neutral colors: he said the yellow ones made him tired. 

If Light hadn’t always been so meticulously clean and organized, the perfectly neat way her brother’s room looked, showing hardly a sign of having been lived in, might have bothered her. But as it stood, she just took in the sight of this room she hadn’t seen in nearly a year, and almost smiled. 

She took another step in, and shut the door quietly behind her. The only thing slightly out of order was Light’s bed, its covers rumpled and askew. She walked over and sat down on the edge of the mattress, taking a handful of the blanket and pulling it into her lap. 

Sitting in her brother’s room, on his bed, it wasn’t like being with him, wasn’t like talking to him. But it held those memories. And she hoped they would help her watch that video, the one she’d been unable to see.

Sayu pulled out her mobile phone from her pocket and found one of the hundreds of messages where people had sent her recordings of that broadcast. This happened to be one of the higher-quality ones, probably recorded with some kind of special device instead of just a camera pointed at a TV. She pulled up the video.

Her brother’s face stared at her from the screen, looking so broken and fragile and afraid. Like she was sure she’d looked when she opened his door after her nightmares. But he was terrified of a much realer monster, wasn’t he? Real people, who really wanted him dead.

Sayu’s eyebrows lowered. He had to be talking directly to the people who hated him, with this. To the people who thought he was a monster. So didn’t it make sense for him to acknowledge that, even if he didn’t believe it himself? He could be saying those words without believing them. 

She frowned. But that remorse, that pain, it just looked so real…

Maybe Light was a  _ really _ good actor. Much better than she was, even though she’d actually taken theatre classes. From those classes, she knew it was much harder to create emotions from nothing than it was to take an emotion that already existed and repurpose it. So he really was in pain… but not because he believed his words. Guilt, then. She could understand perfectly if he was still guilty. After all, she was too.

Sayu paused the video with an amused snort.  _ I’m thinking like Light, aren’t I. This room must be rubbing off on me.  _

When she played the video again, her sadness and anger started to shift into fascination. Once she saw the video for what it was - a subversion of the truth and not a divulgence of it - she started to really appreciate the performance. A twinge of sadness here, a sorrowful frown there, topped off with some genuine tears. It was a masterful work of art. The words themselves were beautiful, too. If someone in her family had been killed by Kira, she could actually see… this could persuade her. Maybe not to forgive him, but at least to let him live.

But no-one in her family had been killed by Kira; someone in her family  _ was _ Kira. And that was the only possibility Light hadn’t accounted for. That he might be speaking to someone who loved him,  _ despite  _ everything he’d done, who just wanted him to get  _ better _ , to be  _ happy  _ again. 

She didn’t think even her parents were in that category with her. They seemed so guilty over it, as though they themselves had committed twenty thousand murders.  _ What did we do wrong, _ they seemed to think,  _ to have raised a serial killer? _ They acted torn between wanting to forget Light was Kira, and wanting to forget he existed at all. They had to know it was impossible, but that didn’t seem to stop them from trying.

But Sayu didn’t want to forget. She wanted to remember, and then to move on. She wanted the same for him. Wanted Light to have a better life, to be able to help the world like he’d always wanted, in some other way besides killing. 

When Light finished explaining the reasons he’d done what he had - reasons Sayu should have predicted, and could have, if she’d been smarter, because they made perfect sense in hindsight, and they were written all over Light’s behavior for months - he talked about what his life would look like from now on. The idea that Light would be ‘living in complete isolation from society’ made her a little sad, but only a little. He’d already been living that way, even if he’d been surrounded by people. No one thought on the same level he did, so he was lonely even in a crowd. Even among his family. 

The only person who could match him was the person he’d said he was now working with. L. The same guy who had headed up the Kira task force, who had  _ probably _ come to her house under the alias ‘Ryuzaki’, if her dad’s praise of the odd young man was anything to go by. So even if Light stayed away from everyone else on the planet, he wouldn’t be alone. That made Sayu happy, that her brother had someone to talk to who understood him… hopefully, better than she ever could.

The mention that he had a therapist was what finally made Sayu crack a real smile. It solidified the knowledge that he didn’t believe his words, that he was saying what he needed to in order to get the world to not hate him.  _ He is doing better, isn’t he. He might be pretending to be the same, but he’s so different from the broken boy I saw curled up in that cell. _

Those final few moments, when he said he would await the world’s decision, made Sayu’s breath catch in her throat. She  _ recognized _ that expression. There was sadness in it, and sympathy, but at the same time, raw-edged determination, and the power and strength to overcome anything. It was the look he would give her when she’d come to his door, just before he wrapped her up in his arms. 

It was the look of overwhelming desire to protect someone he loved.

“It’s L, isn’t it,” she whispered to her brother’s visage on the phone. “You love him.”

As soon as he finished speaking, she paused the video. She needed to see him. It wasn’t a new thought, but it held a gravity that it hadn’t before. While she’d been worried about him before, wondering what he was doing, or if he was even still alive, now she wanted to do something besides just make sure he was okay. 

_ I need to see how happy you are with him, _ she thought, looking at the tension in Light’s expression on the screen.  _ I want to see that relaxed smile on your face, like from when we were kids. _

But how could she find him? From what little she knew about L, it seemed like he was the sort of person to keep Light  _ very _ well hidden.

Sayu closed the video and perused aimlessly through her phone, ending up in her contacts list. She paged through it. Scrolling down the screen were the names of her parents, her school friends, a few teachers, and…

Would  _ Misa  _ know where to find Light? It seemed more likely that she would than anybody else, or at least anybody else who would talk to Sayu right now. Her dad knew for sure, but he probably wouldn’t be home tonight. And her mom almost certainly didn’t know; she wouldn’t have bothered asking. 

Sayu mentally shrugged and dialed Misa’s personal number.

“Hi, Sayu-chan!” came the enthused voice of the pop idol, over the muted sounds of a car. “Haven’t heard from you lately! What can Misa-Misa do for you?”

“Hi, Misa-san. I’m sorry to bother you so late.” She set the blanket aside and stood to pace.

“No worries! I’m on my way home.” There was a lick of tiredness underneath her chipper tone, but also genuine happiness. Maybe she’d finished shooting a scene and was happy with how it’d turned out. “What’s up?”

“Well…” Sayu flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and threaded her fingers through it, “I was just curious, um… if you happen to know where Light-kun is? I just watched his speech and… I really want to see him.”

“Oh! I actually just saw Light-san tonight!”

Sayu stopped pacing abruptly, fingers stilling in her hair. “What? Really?!”

“Yupsies! I’m going to make a video supporting him and put it on all my socials tomorrow, and he just wrote me the script!” Misa sounded excited enough at the prospect to be bouncing in her seat. “We met at the Park Hyatt in Tokyo, it’s  _ so _ beautiful!”

“Wait, seriously? Is he still there? What’s the address? Do you have his room number?”

Misa giggled loudly, “Yes, seriously! He’s staying there until 11am tomorrow, he told me. I can text you the address and room number if you want!” 

“Yes, please!” She started pacing again, faster this time, a little skip to her step. She couldn’t make a believable excuse to go out this late at night, and she probably couldn’t  _ sneak  _ out given how late her mom stayed up these days. Besides, if she knew Light at all, he’d already be asleep now. But she could get on a different train tomorrow, and skip school to go downtown. “Thank you so much!”

“Absolutely, I’m happy to help!” A short silence, then a contemplative hum. When Misa spoke again, her voice was softer. “Light-san would love to see you, I know it.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Sayu said. “I hope you’re right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr: @booklovertwilght
> 
> If you draw art for this fic, please PM me on Tumblr or email me (skyroceretta@gmail.com). I would love to see it, and feature it in the end-notes of the relevant chapter (if you'd like).
> 
> This fic updates at least once per week. Hit the subscribe button at the top to be notified when I post new chapters!
> 
> Thank you all so very much for reading. I can't possibly express how happy it makes me that people are enjoying this fic. ^///^  
> Ilysm! Back soon with more ~


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